


The Beginning

by M_hys_a



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen, Enigmatic Solas, F/M, Pre-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_hys_a/pseuds/M_hys_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An account of Deirdre Lavellan’s first months in Skyhold, in which she befriends the Inquisition’s Commander, receives a visitor from her past, and finds her way into the arms and bed of the enigmatic apostate Solas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything."

                 Standing in the darkness outside a camp in the Frostback Mountains, the blue-eyed elf known as Fen’Harel gazed upon the scene before him. A thought loped in steady circles around the outskirts of his mind, and he fought to banish it to darkness.

                _This cannot be happening._

In the middle of the camp, an elven woman was beginning to stir from her slumber, her breath deepening and her limbs beginning to move. It was not long until she began to lift herself, slowly and gingerly, trying to get her bearings. Theirs had been a harrowing journey through the mountains that night, seemingly endless amidst the snow and howling winds, and while he would not have let her fall, he had found himself shaken by the sight of her as she made her solitary way through the storm. Why did she keep going, he wondered? Whose face appeared before her? Whose voice spoke words of encouragement in her ear as she battled, bruised and broken, through a world that seemed determined to kill her?

                It was only when they arrived at last at the camp that he realized how far she had fallen. He had slipped into camp unnoticed, and come to her side as a healer. The tent was filled with gawking and oblivious companions, and it was only then that he realized his mistake. Perhaps it was the storm, or his own considerable state of exhaustion, but Fen’Harel had failed to understand until their reunion in that crowded tent just how close she had come to perishing that night. The thought terrified him for all the wrong reasons, and when he worked to heal her, he found that his hands were shaking.

                He needed to speak with her. He needed to tell her about the elven origins of the power wielded by their enemy. He needed to present her with the story he had created, to lead her farther down the path of misguided trust she had been traveling since their first meeting. He needed to weave a web of lies around her, a web so thick and treacherous that by the time she learned the truth, she would be trapped there, helpless and prone and unable to be a danger to him.   

                There was much that he needed to do.

                But instead he found himself unable to move, watching the woman he planned to ensnare as she seemed to sway with exhaustion, and the camp began to fill with singing. There was a ghostly pallor to her skin, and the eyes that usually shone with intelligence were muted and downcast. She looked lonely. She looked tired. But there was a grim set to her mouth, and she held her shoulders stiff, like a woman apart from the world around her.

                _Haven has changed her,_ he realized. _She will never be the same woman that she was before._

                There was so much that he needed to do.

                But instead, he was plagued with thoughts of what he wanted to do – thoughts that threatened to derail him, and to cast into destruction all that he had struggled for.

                He wanted to step across the camp and into the firelight, past the prone and caterwauling _shemlen_ , to examine her eyes and face and make sure that her body was not reverting into shock. He wanted to touch her forehead and neck, to make sure she was not feverish. He wanted to banish all the wretched _shemlen_ from her presence, and insist that they allow her a full night’s sleep. He wanted to lift the shadows of weariness and guilt from her eyes. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry.

                _This cannot be happening._

                For it seemed to him a sick joke, too bitterly ironic even for this twisted future, to imagine that after all that he had done, and all that he still must do, he would find himself unmoored and drawn in by a woman born of the world he sought to destroy.

                _This cannot be happening._

                Why, of all the creatures in this barren world, did it have to be _her_ who stood in the path of his magic? Why could it not have been some other person – a man, concerned only with the power that the Anchor might give him, or a pretty young girl, endlessly deceived by the powers of flattery and praise? Fen’Harel could have wrapped them around his smallest finger without the slightest hint of guilt, and cast them aside as soon as they ceased to be useful.

                But this woman was not power-hungry, nor was she hungry for praise. She was diplomatic. She was sharp-tongued. She was charming. She was intelligent. She was compassionate. To Fen’Harel, she was a flash of color in a dull and muted world, and he felt as helplessly drawn to her as a moth to a flame. He felt that to be near her was to be at risk of careening off the edge of a precipice, and he found himself inviting the fall.

                And perhaps the most bitter irony was that she felt it too. He knew that she felt it, but she did not believe it. She would pause in her speech, gazing and moving closer, before her doubt drew her back, and she shrugged away the suspicion like a veil. She felt it, but she did not believe it.  And why should she? For in the world in which she lived, it seemed that beauty was crowned king in all matters of love. She had so long ago been made to understand her lack of beauty that Fen’Harel could watch as the air crackled with desire between them, and she simply shook her head and moved away.

                Living in the world that she did, how could he expect her to understand what it was that drew him to her – not the appearance of her body, but the way she inhabited it? That he had known so very many beautiful women, in her world and his own, that he had long since grown weary of them? That he was bored of women who used their bodies like adornments, covering them in beautiful fabrics and jewelry until they more closely resembled a painting than living, breathing flesh? How could he make her understand that it was the ease and suppleness with which she moved through the world that captivated him? That the sight of her slipping into shadows, or moving soundlessly through field and forest and fortress alike, were visions that he could not keep from his thoughts? That the easy but unrelenting grace with which she moved made him lay awake at night, wondering at the way that graceful body would move under his hands and mouth, and at the things that he could make it do, if he were given the chance?

                How could he make her understand that the lines on her face, or the scars that marked the skin of her arms, were to him stories that were aching to be told? Stories of her years spent navigating the world with humor and wisdom – stories of decisions made, tears wept, and smiles shared? Years of living in which he had played no part, and which left him strangely envious? Years in which he had entirely missed the pleasure of seeing her lips curve into a smile and her brows draw together, thinking what she was going to say?

                 As the singing continued, the woman’s eyes suddenly lifted, and met his across the seemingly insurmountable distance of snow and firelight between them. Fen’Harel felt a wave of heat through his body as she made her way towards him, and he stepped backwards into the shadows. He tried to remind himself that the trust she felt for him was founded on deceit and misinformation. He tried to remind himself that she could be no more to him than a tool. But what he felt instead was an aching and a hunger, and the inescapable sense that this woman deserved so much better than what he was going to do to her.

                She was close to him now, standing only a few inches away.

                There was so much he needed to do.


	2. Skyhold

                “Herald, why do you suppose it is that Cassandra and Leliana have chosen to give you such a powerful role in their organization?”  

                Solas’ voice came from behind her. Deirdre was ahead of him, moving quickly across the snow. They had been spent the last several weeks traveling through the mountains, fleeing a fallen city and making their way towards a remote location that Solas said would offer them a place to rebuild. She paused.

                “Are you asking me if I believe that it is because I’m truly the Herald of Andraste?”

                For weeks, she had been haunted by her memories of what had happened at Haven. Ghosts seemed to hover just outside her line of sight, harrowing visions of the people she failed to save, and when Solas urged her to look out across the group of people whom she had delivered to safety, she saw instead only the absence of those familiar faces she had not. Even in broad daylight, it seemed, the specter of guilt threatened to unmoor her from the present moment.

                “Let’s assume for a moment that I am. Do you believe that you truly are the Herald?”

                Deirdre had received this question countless times before, but for once she felt able to tell the truth. She turned to meet his gaze as he made his way towards her, admiring the figure he cut against the gleaming white snow. Even after traveling by foot every day for nearly a month, there still seemed to be no shortage of conversation between them, and this pleased her greatly. A new level of intimacy had sprung up between them ever since their conversation about the elven origins of the power wielded by their newfound enemy Corypheus, and it had persisted throughout their long journey. She wondered how long her luck could last. Before, the handsome apostate always seemed determined to keep his distance.

               “No, Solas. I don’t. Before joining the Inquisition I barely knew who Andraste was, and I certainly never worshipped her. As a result, I don’t think that I offered her an entirely… appropriate vessel for a ‘Herald’ while both Cassandra and Leliana were nearby during the explosion at the Conclave.”

                He raised his eyebrows slightly and smiled, and she watched with pleasure as his eyes crinkled at the edges in a way that she had grown to love.

                “So you worship the elven gods, then?”

                She waited until he was beside her before she continued walking. “I do not. In truth, Solas, I don’t have a faith. When I was young, I was taught to worship the elven gods, but I could never escape the fact that blind faith left me with too many questions that seemed to have no real answers. If the gods were so powerful, why were elves across Thedas kept in bondage? Why had the gods not protected us against the _shemlen_? Why was it necessary to mark our faces to show loyalty to creatures whose powers transcend mortal flesh and blood? Why would the gods care whether or not we tattoo our faces? I couldn’t believe in them until I felt like I understood them, but by asking questions I earned the mistrust of my Keeper. He told me that I would only earn the favor of the gods if I learned to accept instead of question, and that by doubting his words I made myself a target.”

                Solas sneered. “That fool of a Keeper did his entire clan a disservice by silencing your curiosity. Knowledge and insight are gained only by questioning what is taken for granted. He should have recognized the wisdom in you, and encouraged it.”

                Deirdre let out a bitter laugh. Solas always made things sound so simple.

                _That must be the result of spending the majority of his life far away from other people_ , she thought.

                “Yes, well, as lovely as that might have been, it was not the case. As a result, I had a troubled relationship with the elven gods in my youth, but I maintained some semblance of belief in them, I think mainly out of fear of abandoning them completely. But then there came a time in my life when I lost my faith entirely, and I have not looked back since then.” She turned to him. “What do _you_ believe, Solas?”

                He smiled slightly. “I believe in the power of the Fade, Herald, and that there is more to the world than mortals can comprehend,” he said simply. She nodded.

                “I agree. To assume a greater amount of understanding is to walk the path of Alexius, and risk a hubris that will ultimately lead to self-destruction.” Thoughts raced through Deirdre’s mind, and she tried to find a way to form them into coherent sentences. There were so few people in her life with whom she could speak like this that she resisted the temptation to stop Solas in his tracks and thank him. Instead, she said only: “I always wanted to have magic, growing up. I thought that, if I had magic, I might be better able to understand the world and the role that creatures such as elves and humans are supposed to play in it. I might not have so many questions, because I would already know the answers. Magic seemed to impart inherent wisdom on anyone who had it, and my absence of magic made me feel chained to the physical world. How could I hope to understand anything beyond the physical when the only tools I had were physical abilities?” She paused and found that Solas was smiling at her, his skin grown ruddy with a healthy glow from the exercise. For a man who claimed to be a wandering scholar, he maintained an impressive endurance. Most people found it difficult to keep up with her.

                “I can tell you from experience, Herald, that the presence of magic in a person does not guarantee any sort of intelligence, wisdom, or desire for knowledge,” he said in a wry tone. “If all mages had your thoughtfulness and desire to understand the world, the community might not find itself faced with so much opposition throughout Thedas. But I have met countless timid, foolish mages who care nothing about understanding the power they wield except how it might aid them in pursuing their own selfish interests. You, on the other hand, have shown an immense propensity for learning. Though you lack the ability to wield magic, you have developed more sensitivity and awareness of the physical world and the energies running through it than any mage I have ever encountered. To watch you move through darkness is to see a woman speaking to the world around her, and listening as it speaks back.  It is a beautiful thing to behold.”

               The two of them had stopped walking. Deirdre felt herself blush, but gave no other reaction to his words. She did not know what to make of him – his behavior towards her was generally amiable but aloof, until he occasionally burst forth with words of praise or – dare she think it?— flirtation that left her speechless. 

                “Thank you, Solas,” she said at length. “Truly.” He gave her a small smile, which she returned, and they spent a moment in silence before she shook her head abruptly and stepped away. He spoke again.

                “But let us return to our initial subject, Herald. If you do not believe that Andraste personally selected you to be her champion, why do you think it is that you were given so much power within Cassandra and Leliana’s Inquisition?”

                Deirdre tried to clear her mind, telling herself again that she had imagined the way the air seemed to hum between them, and that she was wrong in thinking that there was a silent invitation in his smile.

                She needed to pull herself together.   

                “That is a complicated question, Solas. Both women have become my friends. In the future that Dorian and I escaped, I watched both of them die truly horrible deaths on my behalf. Whatever their motives were, I know now that they truly are loyal in their support. But if the question is: did I think it odd that the two of them plucked a Dalish elf out of the snow and placed into her hands the responsibility for making decisions about how to run a large human organization that she knew nothing about, then the answer is yes. I did think it odd, and I wondered what they were thinking.”

                “And were you able to come to any conclusions? Do you think it was because of the Anchor?”

                Deirdre lifted her hands in front of her, as if grasping for answers.

                “I think that they were frightened. Justinia’s death left them leaderless and faced with a level of chaos that they had never experienced before. I think the Anchor was likely the reason they didn’t just kill me shortly after I was discovered, but they still could have left me imprisoned and forced me to do their bidding with the Anchor by threatening to kill me if I didn’t.”

                He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I agree, _lethellan_. So why, then, did they free you? Why name you head of their organization?”

                Deirdre glanced back at the seemingly endless group of refugees to assure herself they were still out of earshot. Unsurprisingly, they were. The two elves maintained such a quick pace that she could only scarcely make out the shape of the Commander and Cassandra trudging through the snow together at the head of the group. She turned back to Solas.

                “I think that they made me their leader because they were afraid of assuming leadership themselves. Cassandra and Leliana have very strong opinions about what the Inquisition should be and what role it should play in Thedas, so much so that I think the possibility of the Inquisition’s failure terrified them. Faced with a situation of complete chaos and crisis, neither of them wanted to claim accountability for what might happen. So they made me their leader, and they let _me_ make the difficult and potentially catastrophic decisions while they remained blameless.” Solas nodded and let out a low hum of agreement. Looking back at the Commander’s golden head in the sunlight, Deirdre let out a short laugh. “And I think that _that_ is why the Commander has such a difficult time accepting me and my decisions. He compares me to Cassandra and Leliana and wonders why in all of Thedas _I_ am the one making the decisions that he is duty-bound to carry out.” As if on cue, the Commander looked up, and she met his eyes across the snowy distance briefly before turning away. “I don’t know that anyone planned to have me around for more than a few weeks. Long enough to be accountable for the chaos right after the Conclave, but easy enough to remove once they had more information about the Breach. I don’t think that Cassandra, Leliana, or the Commander expected I would have any success as a leader. How could I? What credentials do I have? But as time wore on, I think they simply got used to letting me make the decisions. At this point, I think that it’s as much habit that they continue to listen to me as anything else.” She gave a wry grin. “Unfortunately for Cullen, I don’t think that I will be removed from my post any time soon.”

                Solas also glanced back at their traveling companions before turning to face her.

                “While I agree with you about their initial decision to make you their leader, I don’t think that it is merely habit that convinces Cassandra and Leliana to leave you at your post now,” he said. “You have shown a greater wisdom and propensity for leadership than anyone could have imagined. Your swift handling of the situation with the rebel mages was an admirable show of decisiveness. You were faced with a difficult and complex ultimatum, and you handled it with your usual thoughtfulness. And when faced with the threat of Corypheus at Haven, you were willing to risk your own life to protect those of the people. You met your enemy with courage, and through your intelligence you were able to out-maneuver him and make your escape.” He smiled at her, and she felt her pulse quicken. He was so disarming when he smiled – all the angles of his sharp face were softened, and the pale blue of his eyes glowed with an unexpected warmth.  “Whatever their initial reasons for making you their leader, I am certain that Cassandra and Leliana are now very glad that they did.”

                They had been making their way up a steep incline for the last several minutes of their conversation, and Deirdre could not tell if she was flushed from the exertion or from the praise of her traveling companion. If she had felt with any level of certainty that the action might be reciprocated, she would have kissed him right there in the snow. The prospect alone was enough to warm her blood.

                “Thank you, Solas,” she said, more loudly than she intended. “You give me more credit than I deserve.” He shook his head.

                “No, Herald, I do not. But that is a subject we can discuss at another time. Right now, there is something I would like you to see.” He nodded his head upwards at the peak of their ascent and gave her a charming smile. “Shall we increase our pace? I think you’ll be very interested to see what’s on the other side.”     

                Deirdre studied him for a moment, her curiosity kindled, before nodding with a smile and lengthening her strides. The two of them made their way deftly up the incline, and she felt her body flush with warm tingling at the exertion. She relished the feeling that the movement afforded her, and she found that her curiosity added extra lightness to her step. What could it be? She was ahead of Solas by several paces by the time she reached the top, but she heard his steps behind her as she stood frozen, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke.

                “Skyhold.”


	3. Making Amends

                 Nearly two weeks had passed since the Inquisition’s arrival at the abandoned stronghold in the mountains. Solas called it Skyhold, and Deirdre had grown to love the sound of his lips forming the word.

                Skyhold, an old and hidden place. Skyhold, a place to learn from past mistakes, and to start anew. A place where, at long last, she could begin to feel like herself again.

                Slowly, she had regained her bearings. Slowly, she felt, she was getting her house in order. There was just one matter left that weighed heavily on her mind, and left a nagging guilt in her conscious: her relationship (or lack thereof) with the Inquisition’s Commander.

                In Haven, what had passed as a curt but mostly functional professional relationship had been underscored by a seething antipathy on both sides. She had grown to _hate_ the man during the course of their dealings, as he incessantly questioned and voiced disapproval with every decision she made. She did not understand the source of his dislike, but she felt she knew its purpose all too well: he wanted her removed from her position of power within the Inquisition. And, although she had initially wanted to refuse any part of her role as the so-called “Herald of Andraste,” she found that her desire to stay on increased in tandem with his desire for her to leave. His blatant disapproval had the opposite effect of what he intended. Instead of making her want to crumble under the weight of pressure, his disapproval compelled her to throw herself into her responsibilities as the Herald completely. And, as time passed, she felt she had become a surprisingly sufficient leader because of it. She felt she had done everything that was needed, and more… all of which went unnoticed and unappreciated by the _shemlen_ Commander of the Inquisition’s armed forces.

                No matter what she did, he disapproved of it, and the simmering dislike between them had eventually boiled over into a shouting match across the war table after her decision to side with the rebel mages.

                “You’ve chosen to engage in a gambling match with people’s lives,” he told her, his face flushed. “You have all but _ruined_ the chance of any future alliance with the Templars, and you’ve put the sole responsibility for the physical defense of the Inquisition on the backs of the mostly-civilian army we’ve been able to recruit. All of this, you say, because you ‘ _thought it was the right thing to do’_?”

                “I have had enough dealings with Chantry soldiers to know that I would rather hedge my bets on a band of apostate mages than _ever_ trust a Templar,” she hissed. 

                Her reply had been biting but, in truth, his words cut a chasm through her heart. It seemed he was the walking, talking manifestation of her own self-doubt, packaged in the form of an irritatingly handsome human. What if he was right? What if she _had_ made the wrong decision? Up to that point, she had taken refuge in the certainty that she _must_ be right. Without that certainty, she could not function. She would cave under the pressure. And in the end, all had seemed to go well with the rebel mage alliance – they had successfully sealed the Breach without any calamitous mage mutiny. But even during the celebration at Haven, unease had eaten away at her. It had been, she felt, entirely too easy.

                The fall of Haven had been a lesson to her. She had hedged her bets to accomplish her goal, but she had lost sight of what might happen next. She had failed. And it was only then, when the world was literally burning around her, that she had come to realize how fortunate she was to have a man like Cullen as an ally. Without his leadership, she felt, no-one at Haven would have survived. That was part of the reason she was compelled to throw herself in the path of whatever evil was making its way towards the city. If she were to die, she thought, the survivors would be better off with him than they would be with her.

                Since that harrowing night, a sort of strained neutrality hovered between them. She had barely spoken to him since they left Haven, and any time she approached him he immediately became tense, shifting uneasily and saying little. She didn’t know what his experience of the evacuation from Haven had been, but he had been treating her oddly ever since it took place. He had certainly shown her an unexpected onslaught of good will during the informal but overwhelming ceremony in which she was named Inquisitor, but perhaps that had all been for show.

                Regardless, she felt, she _had_ to make amends with him. On the long walk to Skyhold, it had occurred to her that during the many months she had spent arguing with the Commander in Haven, their common enemy had been growing his power and planning his attack. She had let herself become so tied up in the interpersonal politics of the Inquisition that she had failed to consider anything beyond what was needed to seal the Breach. She had committed one of the many failings that the Commander accused her of: she had failed to consider the bigger picture.

                And so, on this day, she had made it her goal to do just that: to look at the bigger picture. She would establish terms of peace with the Commander of her armed forces, and, at long last, make an ally of someone that should have been her ally a long time ago. It was, she felt, long past time to put their differences behind them, even if some small part of her did still buck and kick at the idea.

                She found him in the courtyard, spotting his golden head as she walked beneath the tall stone archway. He was at the bottom of the stairs, leaning over a table and surrounded as always by a slew of soldiers. It had taken less than a day at Skyhold for him to seemingly take charge of the place. His confidence had never ceased to (begrudgingly) amaze her. Doing her best to stand up straight and make as imposing a figure as she could manage, Deirdre strode down the steps towards him. She watched as one of the soldiers realized where she was headed and began a series of pantomime movements to try to warn his Commander of her impending approach. She felt a flare of annoyance, and hurt. Was she really such an abrasive presence to him, that he had taught his cronies a secret language to warn him when she was nearby? She tried to force the thought from her mind, reminding herself of her purpose. She could not see the Commander’s reaction to the soldier’s pantomime, but she saw the young man back away from the desk and stride away as quickly as he could. The Commander turned to follow the soldier, his eyes flashing in confusion and frustration, before he caught sight of Deirdre on the stairs. She paused in her descent and tried to enjoy the feeling of _her_ looking down at _him_ for a change.

                “Inquisitor!” he called, his voice sounding strained. “What a pleasant surprise.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the obvious untruth of his statement and continued to descend, watching as the group of soldiers melted away into the surrounding area. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, they were alone.

                For several moments, they stood in silence regarding one another, and Deirdre was reminded unaccountably of a memory from Haven.

 

                It was only a few days after the explosion at the Conclave, days which Deirdre had spent being shepherded around the city like a calf expected to bolt, trying to make sense of what had happened and what it was that these humans expected of her. She knew no-one in Haven outside the Inquisition, and aside from Solas and Varric, whom she had met only briefly, no-one in the Inquisition had shown her any kindness. They made it clear they did not trust her. For Deirdre, the days had seemed endless and exhausting, but the nights were even worse. She was made to sleep with a guard posted outside her chamber, and she found herself unable to sleep, tossing and turning endlessly as she struggled not to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of what had happened. On the third night, she gave up trying to sleep and snuck out of her room in the middle of the night, slinking past the guards with the skill of a cat. She made herself visible when she approached the city gate, approaching a soldier and telling him in an imperious voice, “Your Commander sent for me. Open the gate.” The guard hesitated for a moment and she raised an eyebrow, and he quickly moved to obey the order. Smiling to herself at the harmless lie, she stepped outside the city for the first time in what felt like years.

                Breathing in deeply, she made her way through the snow, her footfalls silent, enjoying the utter silence that surrounded her. She made her way towards the training grounds, so as not to alert the guards, but as soon as she was out of sight of the watchtower she slipped into the shadows. For the first time since the explosion, she felt alive. Skirting around the edge of the soldiers’ camp and avoiding the guards, she saw a light in the distance, and she made her way towards it. It was a small training area, equipped with a handful of roughly-hewn training dummies, and a soldier was practicing in the light of a fire. He had his back to her. She moved closer, first out of curiosity, and then due to a yearning pull in the space where her thighs pressed together. The soldier had removed his shirt, and he was sweating despite the cold night. Slightly ashamed at her voyeurism but unable to look away, she stared at the corded muscles of his back and shoulders as they moved, raining a series of blows that landed in the training dummy with a heavy thud. She felt suddenly very warm, and she slid her cloak off in the darkness. The cold air felt delicious against her skin.

                After several minutes, the soldier stopped his practice and instead began stretching, his shoulders moving in tandem with his fast-paced breaths. Deirdre gazed at him, thinking of the last time she had fallen in love with a human man, and she shook her head abruptly. _What are you doing?_ she asked herself. She made to move away, but she was so distracted by her thoughts that her foot snagged on something in her path, causing a muffled sound. It was very quiet, but it was enough to gain the soldier’s attention. Within a moment he turned and had his sword drawn, glowering into the darkness that surrounded him. It was Cullen. Deirdre suppressed a groan at the realization. Of all the men whose forms she might have admired on a clandestine midnight walk, did it have to be _his_?

                Thinking that she was safely hidden in the darkness, she began to move backwards silently, until he took a step towards her. He seemed to be looking right at her.

                “Are you trying to run away, Herald?” he asked in a cold voice.

                Deirdre, uncertain whether or not to respond, remained silent. She did not understand how he could see her.

                “I should think I don’t need to tell you that that is a very bad idea,” he said, sheathing his sword in one smooth, easy movement.

                She felt a flare of anger at his tone, and resigned herself to engaging with him.

                “I have no intention of running away. I was simply taking a walk.”

                “Talking a walk?” he said. “Outside the city? In the middle of the night?”

                She said nothing, and he lifted a torch from the fire, moving towards her. She moved away, trying to slip back into darkness, but he paused in the space where she had tripped and donned a tunic and a heavy cloak.

                “In that case, if you’re ‘just taking a walk,’ allow me to join you in your walk back through the city gate,” he said in an even tone, and Deirdre turned away from him.

                “Very well,” she said curtly.

                They walked in silence, Deirdre struggling with an unbearable combination of humiliation and wounded pride, and when they reached the gate she saw the guard she had spoken to stand at attention as they approached.

                “Why did you let her through?” the Commander asked him immediately, and the guard blanched.

                “She… she had that you had sent for her, sir.”

                Deirdre suppressed a smug grin at the look of frustration that contorted the Commander’s face.

                “And you _believed_ her?” he asked incredulously, and she stifled a laugh as the soldier blurted out a series of apologies.

                The Commander glowered at her. “Do you think you’re clever, Herald?” he asked, and she raised her eyebrows.

                “Perhaps,” she said evenly.  He regarded her for several moments, until his angry look was slowly replaced by a scornful grin.

                “In that case, I have some advice for you,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows again.

                “Oh really? I’d love to hear it.”

                The penitent soldier had returned from opening the gate, and he was watching them with a combination of fear and fascination. The Commander’s face curved into a smirk.

                “If you want to keep sneaking around in the middle of the night, Herald, I would advise that you keep your cloak _on_ next time _,”_ he said smoothly, gesturing to her wounded hand. _“_ Your only skill is your stealth, yet you shine like a lamp in the dark.”

                With that, he turned and made his way back towards the training camp, and Deirdre was overwhelmed by a torrent of anger and embarrassment, staring at the glowing wound that had made her a beacon. 

 _I need to get gloves,_ she thought, and she felt an overwhelming urge to weep for the first time in years.

 

                Deirdre broke from her reverie abruptly, shaking her head and meeting the Commander’s eyes in the courtyard at Skyhold much as she had that night in Haven nearly a year earlier. She didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat, and she bit her lip.

                “Hello, Commander,” she said finally, approaching him. Sadly, she was back to looking up at him again. He gave her a strange look, and seemed like he was about to speak, but she spoke up before him. “It’s been a while since we talked, Commander,” she said awkwardly. “How do you find Skyhold? Are we safe here?”

                His face seemed to relax back into its normal state (if one’s face _could_ relax back to a baseline that was characterized by pensive frustration) when she asked him the question. “This is a true fortress, Inquisitor. If there’s anywhere in Thedas where we can barricade ourselves against a crazed magister and an archdemon, it would be here.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking past her. “That being said, it doesn’t look like this fortress has been used for a very, very long time. There’s a lot of work that needs to be done to the battlements before they’re secure, and I worry that we’ll be vulnerable until we get the supplies needed to complete the repairs.”

                Deirdre drew in a breath. “Is… is there anything that I might be able to do to help speed along the delivery of the supplies? Do you find yourself in need of any additional supplies for the soldiers – more armor, or weaponry?” She realized that she sounded ridiculous, her words pouring out in a veritable torrent, but she found she couldn’t stop them. “I know that there is a shortage of bedding for the soldiers, and I’ve asked Josephine to send out inquiries to our suppliers to try to obtain additional materials as quickly as possible, but in the meantime, I’m afraid that the best we will be able to provide for them is the hay and blankets we had secured for the horses. As you know, most of our mounts didn’t survive the journey from Haven, but the supplies can be put to good use while we wait for appropriate bedding for the soldiers…” Finally, she trailed off. The strange look had come back over his face.

                She wondered suddenly if there was something on her clothes or in her teeth, and her hands fluttered nervously. Why was he making that face? Or perhaps it was simply the fact that they were speaking like two reasonable adults instead of yowling at each other across the war table like a pair of feral cats? The Commander continued to stare at her, and she drew in a long breath.

                “Commander, I… I owe you an apology. I know that we have not been on the best terms since I joined the Inquisition, and I know that you have disagreed strongly with many… with _all_ of the decisions that I’ve made up to this point. But despite the fact that I know you’ve never had a high opinion of me, I also know that you have continued to do your duty unrelentingly and admirably regardless of the level of vitriol that came between us. When we were at Haven, I never doubted for a moment that you were fulfilling your responsibilities as commander to the fullest extent, but during the attack, I… during the attack, it was driven home to me how much the Inquisition – how much _I_ have come to rely on your leadership. The world was falling down around us, but you had the presence of mind to rally us together and present us with our options. You escorted the people out of Haven, and you saved countless lives.” She paused, fumbling for words. “When we first met, I had… _personal_ reasons for harboring a feeling of ill will towards you, and I am ashamed that I allowed my personal feelings to prevent me from recognizing how valuable you are to the Inquisition. It was wrong of me, and I wanted to say that I am sorry, and… and that I… that you…” She let out a breath. “ _Thank you_ , Commander, for all that you have done.”

                There! It was out. The ghost of her pride murmured in protest, but her relief at feeling the weight of guilt lift off of her chest was so sweet that she did not pay her pride any regard. She waited for a response from the Commander, but he was still staring at her, and it occurred to her that her confession might not have meant anything to him. He might still think of her as an inexperienced and irrational Dalish elf who was not fit to lead. After several more moments of awkward silence, she took a deep breath and began to turn away from him. However, before she could step away, he reached out and caught her elbow.

                “Inquisitor, I… What happened at Haven, it will not happen again. I _promise_ you,” he said unevenly. “The thought that you stayed behind to face Corypheus, that you might have…”

                Slowly, she turned back towards him. Certainly he didn’t think that she blamed _him_ for what had happened at Haven? His hand released her elbow and reached around to the back of his neck awkwardly, and he seemed unable to meet her gaze.

                “Commander, if I had died at Haven, the Inquisition would have found another leader,” she said a wry smile. “Perhaps even someone you approved of.” His face twisted at this remark.

                “Inquisitor, I owe you an apology as well. I was wrong not to trust you. I… I may have disagreed with some of your choices, but you are my leader. I should have listened to you, and offered advice instead of scorn. I should have-”

                She lifted a hand, shaking her head. “We both have a long list of ‘should haves’ behind us. But I am trying not to dwell on the past. I am more interested in the future… particularly in a future where I have you as an ally and… and a friend. What do you think?”

                He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, but his voice sounded sincere when he told her, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

                She gave an awkward smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “Besides, what would I do during the next crisis if I didn’t have you around to give all the orders? I’m still no good at doing that.”

                He did not respond, but a strange look came over his face.

                “What?” she asked, her brows creasing. “Is something wrong?

                He turned his eyes to hers and let out a short laugh, as if uncertain whether to respond. “I… I was just thinking that for someone who isn’t very good at giving orders, you’ve always managed to do a remarkably good job of giving orders to _me_.”

                This time, it was her turn to pause for a moment before responding. Was he joking, she wondered? Varric always spoke of the Commander’s sense of humor, but she for her part had never experienced it personally. Was she finally seeing it now? Based on the look in his eyes, she decided that she was, and she laughed – both at his comment, and at the sheer awkwardness of their conversation.

                “Fair enough, Commander,” she said with a smile. “I won’t argue with you there.”

                His eyes were unusually bright, and it looked like there was more that he wanted to say, but a soldier had approached them. The Commander looked away from her and towards the soldier, giving him a curt nod.

                “Commander, sir, you asked that I deliver this report to you as soon as it arrived,” the soldier said. “Leliana is ready to discuss it.”

                The Commander grimaced. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. Deirdre thought this odd. Certainly he wasn’t mourning the loss of more time spent with _her_?

                “Goodbye, Commander,” she said suddenly, extending her hand to him. She paused before saying uncertainly, “Friends?”

                He looked down at her hand for a moment, then back at her face before giving a small smirk. His hand was remarkably warm when it gripped hers.

                “Better late than never,” he said in a wry tone.


	4. Varric's Tale

                Deirdre watched as the Commander and the soldier made their way towards Leliana’s rookery, a work-in-progress that the red-headed Spymaster had begun within days of their arrival. Slowly, she turned towards the main hall, stopping abruptly when she heard a voice above her.

                “Exploring the grounds, Mom?”

                When she looked up, she was met with the sight of Varric and Solas on a walkway above her. It was Varric who had spoken. Deirdre smiled.

                “I’ll tell you all about it, but first I have to get up to you!” she shouted. “This place is a labyrinth!” She looked around, trying to find a route to access the level where her friends were waiting. She looked back up at them. “Wait for me!” she called, and she took the nearest door that she could find. With the help of several tradesmen working on repairs, she was finally able to locate the stairway that led her up to the walkway where she had spotted her friends. When she finally emerged, she heard Varric cheer.

                “Hey, there you are! Solas and I were starting to wonder if you’d fallen back into the Fade.”

                She laughed. She glanced shyly at Solas, and found that he was smiling.

                “You are looking well this morning, Inquisitor,” he said in a warm tone, and she felt a happy blush creep to her face. “And let the record show that it was mostly Varric who was concerned you might have fallen back into the Fade,” he said with a small smile. “I personally thought that the nearest passageway seemed a more logical place to begin our search.”

                Deirdre laughed, and Varric raised an eyebrow.

                “Turncoat!” he complained. “That’s enough from you, Chuckles.”

                Deirdre grinned. “So what have you two been doing to occupy yourselves on this fine morning?” she asked.

                “We’ve been doing some exploration of our own, Inquisitor,” Solas said brightly. “As it happens, there is actually something that I was hoping to discuss with you. I’ve found an area of the keep that I would like to use as my study, and I wanted to ask your permission to claim it.”

                She felt her eyebrows crease, and let out an amused scoff. “Solas, you don’t need to ask my permission to have a study. This isn’t _my_ fortress,” she said pointedly. He gave her an odd smile.

                “It is now,” he said evenly, and she rolled her eyes with a laugh.

                “You’re as bad as Cassandra and Josephine. You’re all determined to make a ruler out of me, aren’t you? Trying to make me start setting rules about who can use what parts of a castle that I’m only occupying as a squatter. How ridiculous.”

                “You can be whatever you want, Mom, but whatever you do, just don’t put me in the bedroom next to Bull,” Varric interjected, and Deirdre laughed.

                “Very well,” she said lightly. “And Solas, I have decided to grant you your request of a study, in keeping with my boundless beneficence.”

                He smiled at her. “How very generous of you, Inquisitor,” he said with a small smile. “I am eternally in your debt.”

                “Think nothing of it,” she said with a grin, trying not to let her eyes linger on his face. “Which room did you have in mind?”

                “The rotunda,” he said, and she paused.

                “The room right off the main hall, you mean? With easy access to the library?”

                He smiled again, and nodded. “You are correct, Inquisitor. The very one.”

                “Consider it yours, Solas. I’ll ask the staff to start cleaning it right away.”

                He smiled warmly and gave her a nod. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” he said, and she felt her breath catch when his eyes held hers. For someone so stoic, his eyes were startlingly intense. With the sharp planes of his face, he looked like a statue hewn in marble, with eyes like blue fire.

                _Oh, Deirdre,_ she thought to herself. _Pull yourself together._

                Suddenly, Varric let out an incredulous sound, as if something had just occurred to him. “Wait a minute: did I just see you and Curly _shake hands_ back there, Mom? Did you two make amends?”

                Deirdre flushed, strangely embarrassed that someone had witnessed the awkward scene. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I felt that it was long past time for us to put our differences behind us.”

                Varric let out a scoff. “I’m surprised you two found a place to _fit_ all of your differences,” he said in a wry tone. “But in all seriousness, I’m glad that you two patched things up. You are two of my favorite people, and I would always rather have my favorite people be friends than enemies.” Deirdre shrugged noncommittally. “Also, I think that being on better terms with you will help him get over Haven. Haven was… hard for him.”             

                This time, it was Deirdre’s turn to scoff. “Haven was hard for _all_ of us,” she countered.

                “Yes, but… I think it was especially hard on our steadfast Cullen. You have to realize: for him, being faced with that kind of situation probably put him into Templar mode. He was running through the steps of his military training without even thinking, identifying the options that existed and going through the motions because he knew it was his duty. And he did identify the options, and between the two of you, a decision was made. It was an admirable show of leadership, sure. But it wasn’t until we were several miles out of Haven evacuating the refugees that Cullen actually woke up to what had just happened. There he was, underneath the earth and miles out of the city, while _you_ , his primary charge, went gallivanting away to face off against an unfathomable evil and his dragon. Once out of the immediate crisis, the questions immediately began to present themselves. Why exactly was _he_ the one shuffling the innocent out of the city, while the elven woman was the one left to man the trebu- trebu-“

                “Trebuchet,” Solas offered in a quiet voice.

                “Ah, yes, exactly – the trebuchet. You were the Herald of Andraste! He was to protect your life above all others! And what he had done, instead, was agree to a plan where you volunteered to martyr yourself to a manifestation of pure evil and his army of Red Templars while he turned tail and ran. We had no idea what was going to happen to you! At one point, he turned to me and asked ‘Do you think she even weighs enough to man the trebuchet by herself?’ and I didn’t know the answer. We knew that the others were with you, but beyond that, we had no idea what fate awaited you. And then, when we finally made our way above ground, Cullen refused to take another step forward until we had found some sight of you. So we set up camp, and sent out search scouts, and waited for what seemed like hours for word to reach us. And then, suddenly, we heard movement at the edge of the camp, and everyone was overcome with relief. They had survived, and returned! We were triumphant! But then, one look out into the snow was enough to see that only two figures were making their way towards the camp, and yours were not one of them. Cassandra and Dorian had scoured the area around Haven for as long as they could, with no sign of you, and had finally pushed outwards in the hopes that you had found another way out of the city. They had lost track of Solas too, and hadn’t seen him since Haven fell. So there we were, huddled in the middle of a snowstorm, hours removed from near-death at the hands of a madman and his dragon, and no-one knew where the Herald had gone. Had she fallen in the fight against Corypheus? Had she survived the battle, but sustained an injury that kept her from making it to us? Was she lying frozen in the snow somewhere between us and the city, never to be seen again? I told you back in Haven that I had written enough tragedies to see where our story was going, but even _I_ hadn’t known the tragedy was going to come so soon. And it was in that moment that Cullen met his failure. You have to understand- he had gone through the steps of his training, averted the crisis, but in doing so he had allowed his enemy to checkmate him. He had lost the most valuable piece of his army somewhere in the Frostback Mountains, and it did not appear that he would ever be getting her back.”

                Deirdre stared at him. Varric _was_ a storyteller, no doubt about it. She had never heard a description of what had happened before she rejoined the party outside of Haven. She barely remembered her own journey, falling through the rubble and making her frigid way through the snow towards an eerie wolf call that pulled her onwards. She had not considered what it must have been like for the others, wondering if she was dead, unsure whether to move on or to continue to wait for her.

                “Hours later, almost everyone had given up. We still had search scouts roaming and night watchers posted, but most people had gone to sleep, weeping about the martyrdom of the Herald of Andraste, who had died for their salvation.” Varric shook his head. “It was… painful. Those of us who couldn’t sleep sat around the fire, and nobody said much, while Cullen made rounds between the night watchers, refusing to even sit down. And then, sometime in the middle of the night, someone saw something.”                

                This part, she remembered. By that point, her limbs had felt almost totally frozen. She had lost feeling in her feet and hands, and she slogged her way forward as if through liquid. All throughout her slow and feeble journey, she had pressed on towards the lonesome howls of a wolf in the distance, which she later decided must have been an invention of her exhausted mind. It seemed to be coming from different directions at different times, and it was her compass in the storm. After what felt like an eternity, the wolf’s song had led her to what appeared to be an abandoned camp. She had assumed with a looming sense of despair that her friends had been there and were long since gone. For all she knew, she had spent the last several years wandering the Fade in search of her companions, accompanied only by the howling wolf, and she was never going to get out. At that thought, she felt her knees give way, and as she slid into the snow she heard familiar voices, coming as if from many miles away.

                “It’s her!”

                “ _Thank the Maker_!”

                “You were still pretty far outside of camp, and we made it to you just in time. Cullen caught you before you keeled forward into snow, and after that it was just pure, raw chaos for over an hour. He picked you up and carried you back to the camp, shouting for blankets and fire and water and a healer. Cassandra looked like she was going to have a meltdown, and meanwhile all of the refugees from Haven were waking up and flocking towards you, convinced you were risen from the dead. ‘The Herald has returned! Andraste has sent her back to us!’ They were crowding around Cullen to try to touch you, while he was shouting at them to get back and to clear a path for you. When we finally got you into a tent, we really thought you might be dead. Things were so chaotic that we didn’t even realize that Solas had made it back until he showed up offering to heal you.”

                Deirdre drew in a deep breath, bothered that no-one had thought to worry about Solas during all of these events. “That sounds awful,” she said crisply. “To hear you tell it, I was lucky to be unconscious through all of this.”

                Varric laughed. “Lucky you very well may have been, Mom. It was hard enough watching Cullen come face-to-face with his own failure, but then to see him, Cassandra, and Leliana resort to bickering the moment they tried to make a decision without you… it has certainly made its way to the top of my list of unpleasant life memories.”

                She smiled and glanced at Solas. How much did Varric know of the next part of the story? The part where Solas led her away from the humans and explained to her in low tones that the source of Corypheus’ power was elven? The part where, for the first time since knowing him, Deirdre had felt a bond of kinship with the elven apostate?

                “But once you were awake and everyone was singing, I decided to call it a night and went to sleep. I had seen _enough_ weird shit for one day. And telling this story has reminded me that I must ask, for obvious reasons, that you please _not die_. Clearly, our merry band of misfits could not handle it.”

                She laughed. “I’ll do my best, Varric. I promise.”

                “You are a very vivid storyteller, Varric. I feel as if I have just experienced that night all over again.” Solas’ voice was quiet and steady.

                Varric let out a low whistle. “Damn, an endorsement from an elf whose arsenal of stories all involve ancient ruins and temples in the Fade? I’ll take that as a compliment, and possibly the last one I’ll ever need in my entire life.”

                Solas smiled slightly. “You have a distinct voice, Varric. It is to the benefit of all when you choose to use it.” He paused, seeming uncharacteristically unsettled. “Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I must depart. I have much to do.” With a small nod, the elf turned and strode away. Varric and Deirdre watched him go. Deirdre withheld a sigh. It would appear that he was back to being aloof again.

                “And what about you, Mom? How were you planning to spend the rest of your afternoon?”

                She turned back to Varric, trying to brush off her disappointment about Solas.

                “I had hoped to continue exploring Skyhold. We still don’t have a full picture of how big it is, and there may come a time when we need all of the space that it offers. And the Commander is right, we are vulnerable until all of the battlements are secured.” She turned to the dwarf. “And you?”

                He stretched his arms over his head and said unapologetically, “I’m going to take a nap.”

                Deirdre laughed. “I see!”

                “Honesty is _always_ the best policy, Mom. But now that I think about it, if you’re going to go wandering off into the moldering underbelly of this place, I think we’d all feel better if you had some company.” His eyes went over the sides of the battlement, and he raised his voice. “Hey, Dorian! Bull! Care to escort our Lady Inquisitor on a tour of her grounds?”

                The two men had paused and were looking up at them. Bull was the first to respond. “You got some food, Boss?”

                She laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

                “Then I’m in!”

                Dorian folded his arms and looked up at her. “I suppose I’ll come along,” he shouted, “Provided that you promise we’re not going to fall through time again. As it stands, you and I do not have a very good track record with castles.”

                She laughed. “I’ll be right down.” She turned to Varric. “Thank you for the story, Varric. And, for the record, you and the Commander needn’t have worried: I most certainly _did_ weigh enough to man the trebuchet by myself.”

                He scoffed as he began to walk away. “We’ll remember that for next time, Mom,” he said over his shoulder.

                Deirdre spent the rest of the daylight hours scouring Skyhold with Dorian and Bull, the three of them nearly getting lost on several occasions and becoming caked in dust and dirt in the meantime. Dorian did not attempt to hide his displeasure at this fact, saying pointedly, “Deirdre, how is it that whenever I am around you I end up covered in dirt, sweat, blood, demon effluvium, or some combination of all four?”

                She laughed. “I’m sorry, Dorian. I truly am. If it helps, I find the accumulation of filth much more bearable when I imagine myself taking a hot bath at the end of it.”

                “Hey, watch it now, Boss,” chided the Iron Bull. “Don’t give me any ideas.”         


	5. An Evening Meal

                The evening meal had become a communal time at Skyhold.

                It started with Deirdre and Dorian. Every day, they made their way to the dining chamber together and shared an evening meal, talking and laughing and providing themselves a much-needed reprieve from the exhausting task of rebuilding the fortress. Eventually, others took notice and began to join them. First the Iron Bull, then Varric, then Cassandra, then Josephine, then, surprisingly, Solas. They made an odd but merry party.

                For his part, the Commander still took most of his meals in the tower he had claimed for his quarters. However, one evening Deirdre spotted him making his way through the dining chamber, and she rose. “Commander,” she called across the chamber, “won’t you join us?”

                The Commander paused, seeming torn.

                “Your work will still be there after dinner, Cullen,” Dorian called with a smirk. “Stop being such a stiff and sit down.”

                Deirdre fought back a grin, and watched as the Commander ran a hand through his hair and made his way towards them.

                “Very well,” he said. “If you insist.”

                “Inquisitor, I have to admit that I’m impressed by how much food you can fit in such a small frame,” the Iron Bull said with a grin after the Commander sat down. “You eat like you’ve been starving for years. Didn’t they feed you when you were growing up?”

                Deirdre’s eyes moved to the Iron Bull and she smirked. “No, Bull, they did not. During our youth, Dalish elves can feed only on the blood of the innocent, which at times was in sadly short supply when I was young.” Dorian laughed heartily. He loved any and all insinuations of the supposed savagery of the Dalish.

                “I can imagine,” the Iron Bull said with a grin. “Being out on the Free Marches surrounded by Templars on one side and bandits on the other, it seems like innocent creatures must have been few and far between.”

                Dorian’s eyebrows raised at the Iron Bull’s words. Dorian had confessed to Deirdre that he thought the Commander “ _Painfully_ attractive, truly, but also painfully boring,” and it appeared that he could not resist the temptation to flirt when it was offered.

                “A lack of innocence, you say?” Dorian said archly. “But I thought that all Templars lived a life dedicated to holy service! How very titillating. Cullen, perhaps you can help us here. What sorts of escapades might a Templar get into that would make him… un-innocent?”

                The Commander’s cheeks flushed and he stared down at his plate, and Deirdre had fallen silent, staring at her food as well. The statement had hit a nerve with both of them, but for different reasons.

                “Ah, alas,” Dorian sighed, taking a sip of his wine. “It seems as though I will have to use my imagination.” At that, he turned his gaze to the elven apostate who sat across from him. 

                “Solas, do you mind if I ask who taught you magic? Your style is unlike any other mage’s I’ve ever seen!” he said. “You seem able to focus a huge amount of energy with relatively little physical movement. Where did you learn that skill?”

                Solas gave a small smile. “I did not have a ‘teacher’ by the conventional sense of the word,” he answered evenly. “I taught myself magic as part of my study of the Fade. I learned to manipulate magic in the Fade, and simply transferred the skills I had developed to the world on the other side of the Veil. Thankfully, I did make the acquaintance of some spirits in the Fade who were able to instruct me, but I never had any consistent training.”

                Dorian did nothing to hide his look of amused incredulity.

                “Of course you did! No actual teacher, just books and spirits in the Fade. That seems reasonable.”

                “I am quite serious, Dorian.”

                Dorian let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. I suppose you really _are_ an apostate. I don’t know whether to be horrified by your lack of formal training or jealous of your raw abilities. Your technique is impressive. Just keep an eye on the Prince of Skyhold over here. He used to be a Templar, you know.”

                Amazingly, the Commander’s face turned even more red at Dorian’s comment, and Deirdre jumped to change the subject.

                “How did _you_ learn magic, Dorian?” she asked, glancing over at him. Dorian laughed.

                “I learned magic the way that _normal_ mages do, Deirdre – with the help of the most expensive teachers Tevinter had to offer,” he said with a charming smile. “How did you learn to hunt, my dear?”

                Deirdre scoffed at his question. “Hunting is easy. There isn’t much to learn.”

                Dorian returned her scoff. “No, it most certainly is _not_ easy. Can you imagine me trying to sneak up on anything? I might as well bang two shields together in the middle of an open field as try to move with any measure of stealth. And I can’t aim for shit, which is why I’m so fond of my area-of-effect spells. So, I’ll ask again: how did you learn to hunt?”

                Deirdre glanced at him, meeting his eyes skeptically, but when she found that he was in earnest she creased her brow thoughtfully. “I… the first step in learning to hunt is learning to observe,” she said slowly. “I have no magic, so unfortunately I had no way of shaping myself or the world around me to better suit my needs. Instead, I tried to figure out a way to blend into it, so that I became as much a part of the landscape as the trees and grasses.”

                “A useful skill both offensively and defensively,” Cassandra noted. “I admit that I have always desired a greater skill in stealth. I find your abilities very impressive, Inquisitor.”

                At her words, Deirdre laughed. “As I have told Solas, I simply do what’s necessary to stay alive. For a long time, that meant being able to feed myself, and so I learned to hunt.”

                “What’s the biggest prey you ever caught, Boss?” the Iron Bull asked in a flirtatious tone, and she saw Josephine suppress a smile.

                “A big, hairy beast of a _shemlen_ man,” Deirdre replied in an equally flirtatious tone. “I caught him in a trap. Then I healed him and taught him our ways and took him as my lover. I gave him _vallaslin_ and turned him savage and ordered him about and he worshipped me.”

                Dorian, Josephine, and the Iron Bull laughed heartily at her response, and even Cassandra let out an amused scoff. Deirdre glanced shyly at Solas and found that even he was grinning with his eyebrows raised. The Commander was the only one who had did not seem amused. Instead, he was blushing.

                “But truly, Inquisitor – what is the largest prey you ever caught?” Josephine asked curiously. Deirdre paused before speaking again.

                “Alone, or with a group?”

                Josephine hummed thoughtfully. “Which would you prefer?”

                “I prefer to hunt alone.”

                “Alone, then!”

                “It… it was a bear,” she said quietly. “A massive bear. I was out scouting for my Clan. I was still very young, only fifteen or sixteen, and I went farther than I should. I was being foolish and arrogant, but I thought myself invincible, and in the course of my darting around on a cliff side I found myself face to face with the bear. His mouth was bloodied, and he seemed unusually aggressive for a predator that had just fed.” Deirdre drew in a breath, shuddering at the memory. “I knew, then, that there was no option for retreat. Either the bear would die, or I would die. I had never been so afraid. He began to charge towards me, so I drew my bow and fired as many arrows into him as I could manage. Most of them hit the thick skin around his shoulders, and I was convinced that my death was upon me, until I landed an arrow that went right through his eye. I managed to dodge his attack, and he fell to the ground, writhing and twitching.” She shuddered at the memory, remembering her feelings of horror and guilt. “He… he was so beautiful. I felt like I hand wronged him.  I had no idea how long it was going to take him to die, and so I made the terrible decision to approach him and try to cut his throat.” She gave a wry smile. “When I leaned over him with my dagger, the creature sank his teeth into my shoulder, and he did not let go. I had to unhinge his jaw after he was dead. I nearly fainted from the pain. There was so much blood.”

                She realized suddenly that everyone had stopped eating, and they were all staring at her. Dorian shook his head. “Wait, you’re serious? This… this _actually_ happened to you? _That’s_ how you got those scars on your shoulder?” Deirdre nodded, blushing. He was the only member of the Inquisition who had ever seen those scars.

                “Unfortunately, yes.  By the time I freed myself from his jaws, I realized that there was a strange sound coming from farther back on the overhang. It sounded like…weeping. So I moved towards the sound and reached a flat surface at the entrance of a cave. A wolf was there. She was dead. Her throat had been ripped open, presumably by the bear that had just tried to do the same to me. And at the mouth of the cave sat her three pups, shivering. They were still very small, and they would not have been able to survive on their own. At that point, I could barely use one of my arms, but I decided that I couldn’t just leave them there to die, so I gathered the three of them as best I could and made my way back to my camp.”

                “Arriving back home bloodied and carrying small animals in your arms? Sounds about right for you,” Dorian noted with a grin. “What did your clan do when they saw you?”

                “As you can imagine, the sight of me caused a commotion. However, not for the reasons that you might expect. Once it became clear that I wouldn’t die from my injuries, a group set out to retrieve the bear. A bear’s pelt is very valuable, you understand, and the meat can feed a Clan for months. And then my Keeper tried to take the wolf pups away from me, and I refused him.”

                “Take them away? Why would he want to take them away? It seems like domesticated wolves would be a very good thing for the Dalish to have around,” Cassandra said with a frown.

                “You are correct, Cassandra, but unfortunately many Dalish are bound by superstition. There are tales of a trickster god, Fen’Harel, who takes the shape of a wolf and preys upon people. My Keeper said that, by bringing the wolf pups into the camp, I was inviting the attention of Fen’Harel. He accused me of putting the whole Clan in danger.”

                “And did you not believe him, Herald? Did you not believe that you might fall victim to Fen’Harel?” This time, it was Solas who spoke.

                Deirdre scoffed.

                “Absolutely not. They were not trickster gods, they were babies. Babies whose mother had been taken from them in the sort of mundane tragedy that is all too common in life on the Free Marches. There was no grand scheme to their suffering, no greater purpose, no gods trying to make their will known. There was only abrupt, impersonal death, as unremarkable in the grand scheme of things as my own death will be.”

                The group was silent for a moment. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Boss, but your life as a Dalish sounds pretty miserable,” the Iron Bull said frankly. Deirdre let out a wry laugh.

                “It was. That is part of why I left.”

                “And what was the other part?”

                She paused, and drew in a breath. “That is a tale for another time,” she said with a feigned cheerfulness, realizing that she had walked into a trap of her own making. Josephine spoke suddenly.

                “The wolves, Inquisitor, what happened to them? Did the Keeper take them from you?”

                “No, he did not. I fed them halla milk until they were big enough to eat meat, and then I took them hunting with me. I told myself that I was teaching them how to survive on their own, but really they were teaching me.”

                “Did you name them? Did you keep them as pets?”

                “I did name them, but they were not my pets. It didn’t seem right, to me, to force creatures like them to adapt to my lifestyle. It would have been contrary to their nature to live beside me that way, so I cared for them until they no longer needed me to protect them. Once they were big enough, they returned to the wilds of the Marches. They would visit me, sometimes, when I was on a hunt, or out scouting. I saw them not long before I left the Marches, but I have not seen them since. I do not know where they are now.”

                “That explains your proficiency at dispatching the bears we encountered in the Hinterlands, Inquisitor,” Solas observed. “I was barely able to cast a spell before your arrow found its mark.”

                She gave a rueful smile. “You are correct, Solas. It is not a skill that I am likely to forget.”

                The group continued their dinner in amiable conversation for the rest of the meal, with Dorian continuing to barrage Solas with questions regarding his technique in magic and Solas offering his answers in warm and even tones. He seemed to appreciate the other mage’s interest. Varric and the Iron Bull amused themselves with raunchy stories, and in the meantime, Deirdre conversed with Josephine, Cassandra, and the Commander, laughing as they tried to convince her to allow them to refurnish her quarters. No, was the only answer she would give. She would not sleep in an opulent bedchamber while the soldiers were sleeping on hay. She would refurnish her chambers once everyone else was sleeping comfortably.

                The dinner was pleasant as always, but Deirdre found she could not escape a strange sensation that seemed to lurk at the edges of her mind. She could not place its source until the meal was ending, and she looked across the table to find a pair of eyes like blue flame resting on her with surprising intensity. She realized with a thrill what the sensation had been.

                It was Solas. He had been watching her.


	6. A Story from the Fade

                  On the day that Vivienne was scheduled to make her grand arrival at the fortress of Skyhold, Deirdre was hard at work assisting Solas in cleaning the rotunda. He was utterly fixated on the task at hand, so much so that when she first arrived with a plate of warm bread and a pot of tea to serve as an excuse for paying him a visit, he did not even notice her. She stared at him, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Was he… scrubbing the walls?

                  As if hearing her thoughts, he stilled, and turned to face her. His face was flushed with exertion, and she felt suddenly very silly, standing there with her bread and tea. She cleared her throat awkwardly, ready to excuse herself, but he broke into a smile.

                  “Hello, Inquisitor,” he said in a smooth voice. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

                  “Well,” she said, wishing suddenly that she weren’t holding a tray and could sidle into the room elegantly, rather than standing in the doorway like a matron, “I’ve been released from my daily politicking session earlier than usual, so I thought I would pay you a visit and see the progress you’ve made. And… to offer my help, should you be inclined to accept it.”

                  This was a lie. In truth, she had come because she hoped that he would tell her a story. She had grown to love the sound of his voice, and she found it particularly mesmerizing when he told tales about the world beyond the Veil. Her experience in the Fade had been terrifying and overwhelming, but to hear Solas tell it, he was able to stroll through the Fade as easily as if it were a hallway at Skyhold. And the stories he told her of his experiences there, as she moved her eyes about the room, looking at the ground, the walls, the shadowy ceiling, anywhere, _anywhere_ but at his perfect lips as they moved, managed to offer such a blend of saga and philosophy that she was entranced. She remembered the last story he told, and how his eyes had seemed impossibly soft when he said in a low voice – what was it? – “There are no words left for what I am.” She had fled the rotunda nearly trembling with desire.

                  As she stared, lost in her thoughts, the apostate’s mouth curved into a grin. “It’s a beautiful day in the mountains, but the Inquisitor asks to spend her afternoon with me, locked away in a dark rotunda. Are you sure about that, _lethellan_?”

                  She let out a thoughtful sound, casting her eyes upward. After a moment, she moved her gaze back to him. “Yes,” she said with a small smile. “I am. But… I do have one condition.”

                  At this, he laughed. “How very mercenary of you, Inquisitor. What would you ask of me?”

                  She placed the tray down, the food and drink forgotten, and drew near him.

                  “Will you tell me another story?” she asked. “About the Fade?”

                  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and the sharp angles of his face softened as he smiled. It seemed to Deirdre that he grew more lovely every day.

                  “Another story, _lethellan_? I fear I will run out.”

                  “It doesn’t need to be a special story, Solas,” she said, reaching for a rag. “Or even a particularly interesting one. I just want to hear more about the Fade.”

                  He tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating her. “Do you truly have this much interest in the Fade, Inquisitor? And in a humble apostate who has nothing more to offer you than stories? Might your time not be better spent with the others - those who might bring you up in the world?”

                  Deirdre’s brows creased. What a strange question. “I do not want to be ‘brought up in the world,’ Solas. I am quite happy where I am.”

                  His face softened, and the pale blue eyes were lit with a dizzying warmth when he smiled. “I wonder if you will ever cease to surprise me, _lethellan_ ,” he said quietly, and she gave a small smile.

                  “I hope not,” she said softly, her voice a low murmur. He held her gaze for several moments, looking as though he were going to speak, until he shook his head abruptly and turned back towards the wall.  After a pause, he let out a short breath. “Very well, Inquisitor. If those are your terms, I will agree to them. I’ll tell you a tale of the Fade if you assist me with the task at hand.”

                  Suppressing a grin, she stepped up beside him, beginning to scrub the wall in tandem with his movements.

                  “Solas,” she said, “do you mind if I ask why you feel the need to scrub the walls? They have been cleaned already, you know.”

                  He looked over at her and smiled. “Because I am going to paint them,” he said crisply.

                  She tried to hide her surprise. _Paint_ them?

                  “I see,” she said evenly. “I’m not sure how Josephine’s decorators will feel about it, but I quite look forwarding to seeing what you will do with this room.”

                  “I appreciate your interest in me, Inquisitor,” he said with a smile. Her hands faltered in their movement as a blush crept to her cheeks, and a crackling silence fell between them.

                  “Well then,” she said in a strained voice, trying to ignore the warm feeling in her stomach, “I believe that you owe me a story.”

                  Solas laughed.

                  “How very mercenary you are today, _lethellan_ ,” he chided.

                  “On the contrary, Solas,” she said in an innocent voice. “I am _always_ very mercenary.”

                  “And I am no match for the powers of your tongue,” he said in a light tone, and Deirdre faltered again, feeling the color rise once more to her cheeks. Did his statement have a double meaning? Was he flirting with her?

_Always the uncertainty with him_ , she thought, _coupled with a warmth in my stomach, and a weakness in the knees._

                  After a moment of silence, Solas turned back to the wall, clearing his throat. “I suppose I ought to begin,” he said evenly, and he drew in a breath. Deirdre, startled, began to resume her scrubbing, trying to regain her composure.

                  “Yes,” she said evenly. “Please do.”

                  Solas drew in a breath, and began. “Once, while traveling the Fade, I encountered a spirit who was quite cast down. I sat with her, and asked her the source of her sorrow. She said that she had been across the Veil, and had shadowed the steps of a woman there for many months. The spirit had grown to care for this woman, and had seen her come to great heartbreak.

                  “She said that the woman was intelligent, and observant, and thoughtful, and that she was known among her acquaintances for her cleverness and compassion. But it was this woman’s misfortune to find herself in love with a man who was not her equal. Where she was intelligent, he was cunning.  Where she was observant, he was manipulative. Where she was thoughtful, he was conniving. In fact, it seemed to all who knew him that the only truly good quality that the man possessed was his love for the clever woman. For while he was selfish, and sought always to increase his own power, his love for her was true, and he adored her above all others. And so it was that the woman was able to look past his flaws, and to see him for the man that he could be, and she began to hope for a future they would spend together.

                  “However, in the end, it was in vain. For while she had cast her thoughts forward, towards a life in which they were joined together as bond mates, his mind crept elsewhere, thinking of the power he could obtain, all of the things that he had yet to do, and how he could never achieve it if he stayed with her. And so one night he left her, fleeing under cover of darkness, and she woke to find herself alone in their wide bed. She searched for him in all the places of the known world, places both dark and light, weeping his name with sorrow, hoping to call him back to her. But her cries went unheard. For the man was long departed, off to faraway lands, determined to fulfill his ambitions and to make his presence known throughout the world. And so she found herself alone, and facing the heartbreaking truth that the man she loved had always held her second to his own selfish ends.

                  “I tried to talk to the spirit, to make her understand that, while unfortunate, heartbreak is not uncommon in the world across the Veil, and that, with time, the woman’s heart would likely mend.

                  “‘ _But is not for her that I weep_ ,’ said the spirit, ‘ _For her heart is true, and she will find happiness someday. No, I weep for her lover, for he is doomed to scrape away forever at the pursuit of hollow ends, and to die unloved and alone. I weep for him because even the love of his chosen could not save him, and he has no hope at all_.’”

                  Deirdre bit her lip, trying to hide the emotion on her face.

                  “What happened to the woman?” she asked. “Did she find happiness, in the end?”

                  Solas gave a strangely grim smile. “I think it is safe to assume that, with time, her heart healed, and she found love again with a man who better deserved her.”

                  “Hmm,” said Deirdre thoughtfully, scrubbing methodically. _And what of the man?_ she wondered, but she did not speak. The two of them moved together in silence, their bodies joined in an easy rhythm at their separate tasks.

_How well our bodies move together_ , Deirdre thought to herself, and she wondered if he noticed. She then imagined, as she had so many times before, what it would be like if she were able to tear down the walls between them, and allow their bodies to move together in other ways. Her stomach churned at the thought.

                  “Vivienne arrives today, if I remember correctly,” Solas said after a time, and Deirdre was snapped from her reverie.

                  “Yes! Yes she does,” she said, beginning to scrub with renewed vigor, breaking herself from the shared rhythm of their bodies. “I expect her at any time.”

                  “It was a fortunate coincidence that she and her attendants left Haven when they did,” he observed. “I’m not sure they would have been fit to make the journey through the mountains.” He paused, then let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t imagine she’ll be pleased to find you elbow-deep in dirty water helping the Inquisition’s resident apostate clean his quarters when she gets here,” he observed, and she laughed.

                  “No, I should think not. But I refuse to let any member of the Inquisition practice their craft in filth, no matter how _dark_ and _insidious_ their intentions may be. That policy applies for both apostates _and_ Circle mages.”

                  He gave a low laugh at her response. They were silent for several moments, until Deirdre spoke again.

                  “Solas, I don’t believe that Vivienne’s opposition to you is based solely on your being an apostate,” she said slowly. “I think she believes that you have my ear, and thus that she must compete with you for my attention. She wants to be able to use me – and, as such, the Inquisition – for her own ends, and she believes that you are standing in the way of that.”

                  He studied her face for several moments before speaking. His eyes were unreadable.

                  “I suspect you are correct, _lethellan_ ,” he said at last, looking away. Then, with a small smile, “But certainly it would never be much of a competition… her attention over mine?”

                  Deirdre paused, wondering if she was mistaken in hearing again the tendrils of flirtation in his tone. But when she glanced over he had resumed his work, so she brushed off her suspicion, and tried to ignore the warm tugging it caused in the space between her thighs.

                   “Well, if Vivienne seeks to gain my favor, she will have to be more civil about it,” she said shortly, and was about to say more, until she was prevented from doing so by the creaking of the rotunda door, and by the fact that the Lady of Iron herself had strolled into the room.

                  “ _Well_ , _well_ , _well_ , my dear, I see that I have found you just as I left you, puttering away in seclusion with the Inquisition’s resident apostate. I _had_ hoped to receive some sort of welcome from you when I arrived, but it seems that you have… other priorities you must attend to.” She cast her eyes over the buckets of soapy water and wet walls and raised her eyebrows. “Josephine did what she could with the staff, of course, my dear, but it was really _you_ that I had hoped to see. We have much to talk about. Solas, I presume you won’t mind if I lay claim to Deirdre for the rest of the afternoon? Certainly you can get someone else to help you with this...” she paused, allowing a barbed silence to settle between them for just a moment. “…A servant, for example. This woman is our leader. The Inquisitor is not a washerwoman. This is hardly an appropriate way for her to spend her time.”

                  Deirdre opened her mouth to retort, but Solas was already speaking. “Of course. You’re quite right, Vivienne. Please accept my apologies. With the Inquisitor’s permission, I will gladly relinquish my claim on her assistance.”

                  Vivienne raised an eyebrow, studying Solas, before turning back to Deirdre. “Very well. Come, Inquisitor. Join me. I understand that you have already arranged for my quarters to be prepared as I requested in my letters. Let us retire there, and send for the others, and you and I can talk about my visit to Orlais.”

                  Deirdre suppressed a sigh and tossed her rag back into the soapy water. “Of course, Vivienne. I can think of no better way to spend the rest of the afternoon.”

                  She cast a glance back at Solas, hoping to meet his eyes before departing, but found that he had already turned, and was back to scrubbing. She withheld an audible sigh, and passed through the door.

                  When they entered the main hall, Deirdre found herself surrounded on all sides by Vivienne’s glittering entourage, who parted for their leader with an almost religious deference.

                  “You know, Inquisitor, it’s really quite unfortunate that our Solas is an elf,” Vivienne said casually as they made their way through the hall. “He’s _quite_ handsome, but most people do not notice, because they are accustomed to simply looking past elves, as if they were not even there. He has quite a distinctive figure, though he dresses like a pauper. If we were to outfit him in more appropriate garments, he would look absolutely kingly. We could use that to our advantage, I think. Handsome men are _always_ an asset.”

                  Deirdre said nothing, smoldering at the idea of talking about Solas as if he were a wall mounting, or some other form of decoration. Besides, what business was it of _hers_ that Solas was handsome and had a kingly figure? None whatsoever.

                  The Lady of Iron looked over at her.

                  “You know, the same might be said of you, my dear. You lack beauty, it’s true, but you are not without resources. You know what they say: ‘There are no plain women, only lazy ones.’”

                  Deirdre drew in a breath, amazed at the woman’s audacity.

                  Vivienne laughed. “Oh, dear, I’ve offended you! How prickly you are! It is only the truth, dear, and you should never be offended by the truth. Nor should you hide from it. But perhaps you would prefer that I cajole you, and tell you half-truths, and flatter you like certain other people in your acquaintance?”

                  Deirdre scowled.

                  “No-one in my acquaintance tells me half-truths and _cajoles_ me, Vivienne,” she said crossly, finally finding her voice. The beautiful mage raised her eyebrows.

                  “Oh _really_? Is that what you think? You may not see it now, Inquisitor, but one day you will, I’m sure. And when that day comes, I will be here for you. But until then,” she raised a hand, as one of her attendants had returned with Josephine and Leliana, “let us get back to business.”


	7. An Unexpected Arrival

                 The second kiss was much like the first. Hesitant, at first, questioning, then suddenly overwhelming, urgent, and over far too quickly. Deirdre watched Solas depart her quarters as if being chased, and wondered where they stood. The fact that he ran from her seemed to suggest that he hadn’t finished thinking over his “considerations.” Or had both kisses been a momentary lapse in judgment that he later came to regret?

                Even if it were the latter, she couldn’t understand what there was to regret so strongly. While she and Cassandra had bonded over their shared guilty indulgence in stories about star-crossed lovers and passion for the ages, she considered them only that: stories. While she savored the idea of everlasting love as a concept, she had never actually considered it a reality of daily life. Did Solas fear that by kissing and (eventually, possibly) making love to her, he was giving her the expectation that he would be her companion forever? Did he fear that by letting himself slip he would find himself locked in the grips of a woman who demanded that he give her all of the worshipful idolatry that _shemlen_ women required in marriage? She nearly laughed at the thought. So little he knew of her, and of her history.

                But he certainly did seem reserved, and she had no idea what the customs around courtship had been in the place where he grew up. He said that he was raised in a remote location and then spent his adult life as a solitary apostate, roaming the wilds. It was likely he had not had experience with many women like her… or, perhaps, with many women at all. But nothing about the way he kissed her seemed to suggest any lack of experience. On the contrary, his hands and mouth moved with a certainty that left her breathless, nearly drunk with desire and craving more the moment that he pulled away.  While she did not want to pressure him into anything, she decided that no harm could come from being open with him about her expectations (or lack thereof) for any relationship that might occur between them. Because while she was certainly drawn to him, she did not delude herself into thinking that there was any permanence to the life she was leading. She understood his hesitation – no-one in the Inquisition was in a position to commit to anyone, except perhaps the Commander, who looked like a prince from a _shemlen_ love story and might as well play the part anyway. She and Solas had no such luxury.

                It had been five days since that second kiss, and she had finally resolved to speak with him about it. She made her way to the rotunda shortly after lunch, after spending the morning discussing politics with Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine. Several noble visitors were scheduled to arrive at Skyhold within the next week to discuss a possible alliance as well as donations to the Inquisition, and Josephine had laid out the history of each noble family and individual within it with a nearly incomprehensible level of detail. She had also presented Deirdre with a stack of papers containing the same information, written down for her reference and handed to her with a knowing glance. Deirdre sighed. If Josephine weren’t so dear and loveable, she would absolutely loathe the woman for the things she put her through.

                When Deirdre made it to the rotunda, she drew in a deep breath of anticipation before opening the door…which she then let out in a gust of disappointment upon seeing that it was empty. Where could he be? Solas was a creature of habit, and when he was not sleeping or eating he was usually sequestered in this room, painting or studying some ancient book or artifact that might aid them in their fight against Corypheus. However, he also had a tendency to sleep late into the day, so it was possible that he was still in his bedchamber.

                She moved her eyes upwards over the frescoes on the wall, marveling. She was too shy to examine them when Solas was present, so she resolved to take advantage of the opportunity to take a closer look. While some were only partially completed, they were astounding. She took a step closer and studied them. While the shapes were simple and bold, the textures and layers of the paint which gave the shapes existence were complex and varied. She remembered the first time she had caught a glimpse of Solas’ paintings, the morning after their kiss in the Fade. When she found him in the rotunda, she didn’t know if she was more startled by his flirtatious tone (“ _Sleep well?”_ ) or the sudden explosion of color that had appeared on the wall behind him. _When had he had time to paint that?_ she wondered. As her eyes trailed over the frescoes, she reached out a hesitant hand to touch the impossibly tall figure that straddled the crossroads between what appeared to be two different versions of the same place. One side was wreathed in shadow and destruction, while the other was green and bright with sunlight. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to get a better look. While the figure had the shape of a person, it had the face of a wolf.

                “What do you see, _lethellan_?”

                She let her heels fall back to the ground.

                “The castles in the background appear to be two versions of the same place. One has fallen to darkness, while the other is cast in sunlight. Is it his castle? And, if so, why isn’t he there? Does this moment capture him trying to escape the stronghold, or to go back to it? Do the two sides represent the possibilities of what will be, depending on the choices he makes? And, if that is the case, why does he wait at the crossroads to make a decision when the correct path seems to be so obvious, based on the outcomes?”

                Solas came to stand beside her and smiled. “A thoughtful response as always, Inquisitor, although I fear I must answer your questions with a question of my own: are you so certain that the figure is male?”

                She smiled back at him. “I suppose not! I might say that my judgment is based on my previous experience with art. In all of it, women are presented in one of three ways: items of beauty to be looked at, voluptuous creatures to be ravished, or virtuous matrons to be worshipped. Based on that, the idea of a painting simply presenting a woman making a decision is too outlandish to even imagine.” She paused and looked back at the painting. “A woman as subject and not object – what a thing to consider!” She cast him a sly smile. “Or, I could simply say: I have no reason.”

                Her response earned her a warm smile and a laugh from the apostate. “Have you had the opportunity to view a great deal of art in your life, Inquisitor?” He asked. “Forgive me being blunt, but I did not think that the Dalish have much exposure to it.”

                She shifted uncomfortably. “I have had the privilege of seeing a great deal of art in my life, but not because of the Dalish,” she admitted. “In my youth, the beauty in my life all came from the world around me. Wooden carvings, skillfully woven blankets, particularly well-crafted aravels... Beautiful, but also functional. Although I suppose that those things are still art, in that they tell stories in their own way.” As she was speaking, Solas moved closer to her, so that their shoulders were nearly touching.

                “The wooden halla that you carry – what story does that item tell?” he asked softly. His voice in her ear was intoxicating. She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself distracted by the sound of a commotion from the main hall. She and Solas shared a confused glance before she turned and made for the door, stopping in her tracks as the Commander burst through the doorway grasping a bound and gagged man by the arms and neck and followed shortly by Cassandra, Varric, Josephine, the Iron Bull, and Dorian.

                “Inquisitor,” thundered the Commander, “we found this man trying to _sneak_ into Skyhold and captured him. When we attempted to put him in a holding cell, he kept saying that he needed to see you. He _claims_ that he knows you. I’m sorry to bring him to you like this, but given the extraordinary circumstances…”

                She stopped listening to the Commander’s words and looked over the bound man: lean, somewhere around Solas in height, copper-colored skin, dark hair pulled back, a small gold ring in his left ear, green eyes… her mouth fell open.

                “ _Edwin_?!” she cried. At this, the man’s eyebrows raised in a cheerful expression, and muffled sounds came from behind the gag in his mouth.

                The Commanded gaped. “So you _do_ know this man?”

                Cassandra stepped towards her. “When we searched the prisoner, all that we found on his person were seven daggers and…this.” She handed Deirdre a small, ornately-blown glass bottle. The lid was glass as well, delicate and formed into the shape of a dragon’s head. The liquid inside was a vivid red. She heard a sharp intake of breath.

                “ _Dragon’s Flame_?” Josephine gushed, unable to contain herself. “All the way from Rivain? How did you get it here?!”

                The bound man made a face that suggested it pained him that he could not respond, and Deirdre moved towards him to untie his bindings. The Commander caught her hint and removed the bindings himself, at which point the bound man immediately spoke.

                “I got it here by carrying it next to my heart, lovely one,” he crooned. “And had I known you would be so excited to see it, I would have brought a bottle for you as well.”

                Josephine blushed fiercely, but she was prevented from responding by a sudden, hearty laugh from Varric. “ _Methods_! This guy is _methods!_ ” He cried. When the rest of the group stared at him, he went on. “When I saved Deirdre’s bag from being destroyed after the Conclave, one of the things inside was a bottle of very rare Orlesian perfume. I thought this was an odd thing for a Dalish elf to be carrying around, so I asked her how she got it. Her answer was that she had ‘methods.’” He pointed to the bound man. “And here we have it! _He_ is methods!”

                Meanwhile, Deirdre found herself unable to speak. The sight of someone from her “real” life against the backdrop of the Inquisition was unsettling. The thought of Edwin and Solas occupying the same room was hard to comprehend. Unconsciously, she had maintained a stark border in her mind between her life with the Inquisition and her life outside of it, and the fact that the lines were beginning to blur made her uneasy. She realized that, since the events at Haven, she had barely thought about her life outside, or the people in it, and it made her feel both guilty and confused. Was she losing sight of that life? _Her_ life?

                Edwin looked around the room at the assembled party, as if trying to take it all in, before his eyes came back to Deirdre. “Deirde, I always knew that one day you would lead a powerful s _hemlen_ organization. And I was also fairly certain that at some point you would inevitably command a vast stronghold in the Northern Mountains. However, I had no idea that it was _this_ shemlen organization, in _these_ northern mountains!” Trying to shake aside her unease, she laughed, and slipped the delicate perfume bottle in her pocket.

                “Edwin, it is _wonderful_ to see you again,” she said warmly. She turned to the assembled crowd. “Everyone, please, rest assured. Edwin is an old friend of mine. I have known him for many, many years, and I know that he can be trusted.”

                Cassandra spoke. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I am glad to know that this man is not a threat. However, now that we are assured of his safety, I must ask him: how did you ever think that you would be able to breach the security at Skyhold?”

                Edwin shrugged. “I tend to have a special talent for evading security, and for remaining unseen.  I had no idea what I was getting into trying to slip into this place.”

                “And what would you have done if you _had_ been able to sneak in?” Dorian asked, sounding intrigued. “Simply slunk around until you found the Inquisitor’s bedchamber and then burst in bearing gifts of fine perfume and woeful tales of the long journey to bring them to her? Cullen, perhaps you should have let him through!”

                The Commander scowled.  “The security of Skyhold is of the utmost importance. If anyone, no matter how talented or how _fine_ their taste in perfumes, is able to slip past our barriers, we are vulnerable.”

                Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course, _Commander_. We understand.” He turned to the newcomer. “Well, Edwin, I am equal parts disappointed and pleased to learn that you are in fact an old friend of the Inquisitor’s. I had hoped this meeting would be a bit more exciting.”

                The Iron Bull stepped forward and gave Edwin a companionable pat on the shoulder. “Welcome to Skyhold, friend! I hope to spend a lot of time with you at the Herald’s Rest, listening to all of the incriminating stories about our Lady Boss that you are willing to share.”

                Edwin turned to Deirdre. “The ‘Herald’s Rest’? Aren’t _you_ the Herald?” he shook his head incredulously. “You even have a _bar_ named after you?” She smiled slightly and shrugged.

                Josephine spoke next, and Deirdre was convinced that she was blushing. “If Edwin is going to be staying with us as a guest, we need to make sure he’s given a suitable room. How long do you plan to stay with us, Master…?”

                “Ramsey. And no longer than three or four days, I’m afraid. I shouldn’t have come at all, but I had to know whether or not the stories were true about my old friend becoming a _shemlen_ idol and powerful political figure.” He shook his head. “And so it is true!”

                Josephine was _definitely_ blushing. “Master Ramsey, I’ll make sure that you’re outfitted with a comfortable room for your stay. You are our guest, so if there is _anything_ you should need, just ask.”

                Dorian, who stood behind Josephine and thus out of her line of sight, met Deirdre’s gaze and lifted his eyebrows with a devilish smile. Deirdre smirked.

                “Thank you, Josephine! You are too kind! Now, I imagine that my friend must be exhausted. I will show him to my quarters, and he can rest there until one of the guest rooms is prepared for him. In the meantime,” she couldn’t hold back a wry grin, “I’m sure that all of you have… _something_ else that you could be doing. I will make sure that Edwin is present at dinner, for those of you who are still curious about our guest.”

                The Commander rolled up the rope and binding in his hands and nodded stiffly at Edwin before leaving. Varric and Cassandra were next, followed shortly by Josephine, who stole one last glance over her shoulder before Iron Bull gently pushed her along. That left Dorian, who could not resist the temptation to lock eyes with Deirdre and ask lightly, “Deirdre, does _this_ happen to be the friend that inspired the, ah…” he tugged at his left ear. Deirdre felt heat creep up her face. “I _see_! Say no more, Inquisitor. Edwin, Solas, I look forward to seeing both of you later.” He bowed slightly and made his way jauntily towards the exit, not attempting to mask the gleeful grin that spread across his features. When the door closed behind him, Edwin rubbed the back of his neck and scowled.

                “That blond one – is he a Templar?”

                “He used to be,” Deirdre answered, and Edwin rolled his eyes.

                “You can always tell.”

                He stepped towards them, extending a hand towards Solas. “Well, now that the others are gone, I suppose it’s time for an introduction. Tell me, Deirdre, who is this remarkable elf you were speaking to before we interrupted you?”

                 “Edwin, this is Solas. He is my… he is a companion of mine in the Inquisition. He is a very powerful mage, and an expert in the Fade. He is the one who saved me after the explosion at the Conclave.”

                “It’s wonderful to meet you, Master Solas! You seem to be the only person I’ve met in the Inquisition so far that actually deserves their position. As for the rest of them, they seemed all too ready to drop their duties at a moment’s notice as soon as they caught wind of a potential spectacle involving my friend Deirdre.”

                Deirdre laughed. “Don’t be too hard on them, Edwin! You are the first visitor from my life before. I think that they are all curious to know who I truly am. Or, rather, who I was, before I became the ‘Herald of Andraste’ and the Inquisitor.”

                Edwin let out a quiet scoff, and Solas spoke. “Are you an elf, my friend?” he asked. Deirdre stiffened, knowing Solas’ general opinion of elves, and wondered at his meaning. “You do not appear to be an elf, but you refer to humans as ‘ _shemlen_.’”

                Thankfully, if there was disapproval in Solas’ tone, Edwin did not catch it. “I am not an elf, Master Solas,” he said, “but neither am I a human.” He lifted his hands to his hair and pulled it, exposing an ear kept hidden beneath. His ears was larger than a human’s but smaller than an elf’s, pointed slightly but laying close against his head. “My father was a human and my mother was a Dalish elf. Theirs was an… entirely consensual coupling, naturally,” he said bitterly. “I was raised by my mother, but she gave me a human name in the hopes that I would be able to pass off as a human. For the most part, it works. I’ve lived most of my life amongst humans, but I allow myself to slip into rampant elfish nativism occasionally, depending on the company.”

                Solas nodded. “Why did your mother not raise you amongst her clan? Why raise you among humans?”

                “My mother was forced to leave her clan when it became apparent that she was carrying a human’s child,” Edwin said, choosing his words carefully. “Hers was an especially reactionary clan. No-one believed her claim that she did not lay with the human willingly. My father was reportedly very handsome, and my mother had earned the reputation of being fond of the company of men.” Deirdre felt her stomach clench, as always, at the story. “As a result, she took up residence in a human city before I was born, and she lives there to this day.”

                Solas scowled. “They would blame a victim of their own for a transgression committed against her?” he shook his head. “The Dalish never fail to surprise me with their backwardness.”

                Edwin raised an eyebrow, unaccustomed to hearing an elf speak so negatively about the Dalish, but he did not disagree. After a pause, Solas gave a slight bow.

                “Inquisitor, I fear that I’m intruding on your hospitality. Please, feel free to show our guest around Skyhold. We can continue our earlier conversation at another time.”

                Deirdre nodded, trying to hide her disappointment.

                “Of course. Thank you, Solas.”

                Edwin gave Solas a curious look followed by a jaunty bow before the two of them took their leave, and Deirdre withheld the urge to sigh at the fact that another moment between them had been abruptly brought to a close.

                _Perhaps nothing will ever happen between us,_ she thought wistfully, _because we will never have the time._


	8. A Plan to Our Advantage

                Once in the main hall of Skyhold, Edwin let out a low whistle. “Unbelievable. You’ve really outdone yourself, Deirdre. I knew you were crafty, but _this_?”

                She smiled ruefully. “Would you believe me if I told you that none of this was intentional in any way? That it’s all the result of nearly unbelievable coincidence? Because that is the truth of it. I simply happened to be in the right place at the right time during the explosion at the Conclave. Instead of killing me, the explosion sent me into the Fade, and gave me the mark on my left hand. That mark is the only source of these peoples’ esteem for me.”

                “Certainly not the _only_ source of peoples’ esteem?” Edwin asked her archly. She shot him a glance.

                “Aside from my overwhelming amount of natural-born leadership ability, you mean?” she asked wryly.

                He laughed, but his voice was quiet as they made their way across the hall. “Right, aside from that. But in all seriousness: do you really mean to say that they put you in charge just because you happened to be in the right place at the right time?” Deirdre nodded, and Edwin shook his head. “Ahh, these _shemlen_. They have no idea how lucky it was for them it was _you_ who survived and got the mark and not someone else.”

                “None of them know my history, Edwin. I think that most of them expected me to fail.” He let out an indignant sound.

                “Well, you’ve proven their expectations wrong.” She was touched by his indignation, but her voice was laced with sadness when she spoke.

                “Have I? I do not share your certainty. It has been…hard, Edwin. I have made so many mistakes, and people have suffered for them. People have _died_ because of them.”

                He nudged her shoulder. “Deirdre, trust me. Whatever your failings have been, you are still a remarkable person. The situation you have been put in is nearly unbelievable. Most other people would have simply collapsed under the pressure.”

                At this point they stood at the entrance to her quarters, and she pushed the door open. She closed the door behind him and led him up the stairs. He was silent, but as soon as they reached the top he immediately turned to her and swept her up in a massive hug.

                “ _Thank the Creators, Deirdre_ , it really is you,” he breathed before releasing her. He held her at arm’s length and studied her, as if checking to see if any pieces had fallen off. “When I got the news about what happened at the Conclave, that there were no survivors, I thought that you had…” he trailed off. “But then I started hearing rumors about a Dalish woman found near the site of the explosion that the _shemlen_ were calling the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ But that woman was a mage, they said, able to use her magic to seal holes in the sky. And you are no mage.” He suddenly seemed to notice the mark on her left hand for the first time, and he picked it up cautiously, examining it. “Still, I held out hope. I asked everyone who seemed to know anything about this so-called Herald what she looked like. Most of them didn’t know, but finally I was able to track down someone who was in Haven briefly after the Conclave. When he gave me the description, I knew that it must be you. And then, to hear what happened at Haven, and to wonder all over again if you were dead…” he shook his head. “I resolved to track you down, and see for myself. You can’t imagine… It’s such a relief it is to see you standing here, alive.” He gave a small smile, and changed his tone abruptly. “And what a relief it is for me that I can tell Lisbeth that I did _not_ unintentionally send you to your death! When word reached her of the explosion at the Conclave, I truly thought that she might travel from Orlais personally to flay me alive.”

                Deirdre laughed. “How is Lisbeth? Is she well? Suitably settled down in Orlais?”

                Edwin rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yes, yes, she is doing remarkably well, considering that she was recently married to a man that she was once hired to rob blind.”

                “Do you think she really loves him? Truly?”

                Edwin scoffed.

                “Absolutely not. But Lisbeth has always been a practical woman. She saw an opportunity for a life of luxury, and she took it, lucky wretch.” Suddenly, he was serious again. “Deirdre, why didn’t you write to me? I was worried sick for nearly a month. And then when I began to suspect that you lived, and yet received no word from you, I wondered if you were angry at me for sending you to the Conclave in the first place.”

                “I was not angry, Edwin. You cannot think I blamed _you_ for what happened! I didn’t write to you because I knew there was a risk that our Spymaster would intercept any correspondence that I sent, and I didn’t want her tracking you down and getting anyone else mixed up in all this.” She gave a short laugh. “That, and I had no contacts in Haven to send the letter through anyway. I never even met with the representatives at the Conclave; the explosion took place before I was able to find them.”

                Edwin seemed to accept this answer, as he made no protest as he ambled towards the balcony. She followed him out with a smile. “By the _gods_ , Deirdre, this is incredible!” he cried. He placed his hands on the stone railing and looked around at the mountains and up the side of Skyhold, shaking his head. “This place looks like it could have housed ancient royalty, or even one of those old elven gods my mother is always so fond of talking about.” He turned to face her. “And to think that _you_ are in charge of it, and sleeping in the master suite! The more I think of it, the more it seems that my sending you to the Conclave was not such a horrible thing. And while we lost _that_ particular business opportunity, I begin to think that your new friends and I might be able to work out a plan to our advantage.” Deirdre bit her lip.

                “I’m not sure I want them to know, Edwin. I’ve considered it time and time again, and every time I’ve resolved that it’s too risky, for you, for me, and for everyone else. Not to mention that it’s difficult to approach people who appointed you as the blessed savior of their goddess and tell them that you used to help run a ring of spies and thieves.”

                “A ring of spies and thieves that could greatly aid your little group in obtaining information and artifacts, two very valuable commodities for a large-scale organization like the one you’re now leading,” Edwin said sharply. “If these _shemlen_ are worth their salt, they will see that the reality you present is far more valuable than any of their virtuous projections.”

                She smiled at him. “And you say _Lisbeth_ is a practical creature,” she said quietly. “But… perhaps you’re right. We’ve had a lot of trouble obtaining certain supplies through the ‘reputable’ channels. There are powerful families and groups across Thedas who still do not know what to think of us yet, and without their support we are greatly hindered. We’re not in need of anything particularly exotic at the moment, but we might be able to make use of any suppliers who have products to sell but don’t want to deal with the hassles of the official trade channels.” She sighed. “And, I suppose I will need to tell them the truth sooner or later. Our Spymaster is a cunning woman. If I don’t tell her now, she’ll find it out herself eventually.”

                Edwin looked up the side of Skyhold again and began to pace, looking thoughtful. He had no cause for Deirdre’s hesitation; he was ready for business. “Depending upon the nature of the supplies you need, I should be able to get something arranged within a month,” he said after a few moments. “I would need to send messages to our contingents in Kirkwall to…”

                Deirdre raised a hand. “If we are going to have this discussion, it should be in the presence of my inner circle,” she said firmly. Edwin raised his eyebrows.

                “Such loyalty you have to these _shemlen_ , Deirdre!” he said. She flushed, and looked away.

                “I have reason to believe that they are equally loyal to me,” she said simply “Or, at least, they have done nothing to deserve my acting on behalf of the Inquisition without hearing their thoughts or at least making them aware of it.”

                “Well, well, well, quite the leader you’ve become, Deirdre!” Edwin said quietly, coming to stand beside her again. “Gone are those early days in Denerim, when we were a two-person show and I did the dirty work while you handled the paperwork.” He sighed. “I never thought I would say it, but I miss those days.”

                She gave him a skeptical look. “ _You_ miss Denerim? I never thought I’d live to see a day where I would hear _you_ say _that_.” He chuckled.

                “It’s not _Denerim_ I miss, it’s… what I had, while I was there. The guild branch in Denerim had had a reputation for being mismanaged and poisoned from within for so many years, and when I began working to fix it every day was an uphill battle. I had so much to prove. And then there was you, coming into the fold and becoming my partner. I lived on possibility, in those days, of what we could be. And I miss it.”

                She studied him with a small smile. If only _he_ had been the one at the Conclave, she thought. His spirit was perfectly suited for the role that had proven so difficult for her. “At least some of those possibilities have become realities thanks to all of the hard work that we did,” she reminded him. “Certainly you must be proud of _that_ , at least.”

                He smirked. “Point taken, Deirdre. Now where is this ‘inner circle’ of yours? If there’s to be business, I’m sure you would prefer to get it over with before dinner.”

                She grinned. It was true. Perhaps they were _all_ practical creatures.

 

                When she called the meeting, she found that her companions were more than willing to drop everything for an impromptu assembly. They gathered quickly, and looked expectantly at Deirdre before she began to address them. Edwin stood behind her, in the shadows, while she told them those parts of her story that she felt they needed to know: that at a certain point in her life, she made connections with a small branch of a large thieves’ network in Denerim. That Edwin was her business partner, that they had spent many years working together and establishing contacts across Thedas, and that, most importantly, he might be able to aid them in accessing much-needed supplies for the Inquisition that had proven difficult to obtain through traditional routes.

                The group sat in silence at the end of her tale, and she shifted on her feet uncomfortably, wondering what they thought of her. Would Cassandra think less of her? Deirdre imagined it would be easy for Cassandra to think little of a person who made a career out of crime, given that she herself had dedicated her existence to the observance of faith. And high-born Josephine might squirm to think that she was responsible for presenting not only an _elf_ , but a street-crawling elf to the high-and-mighty of Orlais and Ferelden. Leliana would likely understand, but the Commander…

                She found herself wounded by the suspicions of their judgement. It was not any passion or love for the act of crime that had driven Deirdre to the guild, it was the need for survival. It was the need for a way to support herself after leaving her Clan in a world that was not very kind to solitary female elves.

                It was Leliana who spoke first.

                “I’m glad that you shared your history with us, Inquisitor,” she said thoughtfully. “I knew that there was much to your story that you were not telling us. My agents contacted Clan Lavellan shortly after we found you at Haven, and they told us that they had not heard from you in years. I chose not to confront you about that fact, even after your Clan contacted the Inquisition requesting aid, and to keep an eye on you to determine if you could be trusted. In the meantime, I had my agents keep looking for more clues, but they had a remarkably hard time finding anything about your life after you left Clan Lavellan. It seems I now know why.”

                Cassandra let out a breath, and Deirdre was both surprised and relieved when she spoke. “I agree. I must admit, I am glad to hear it. I had feared much worse.”

                Deirdre couldn’t help but laugh. “’ _Feared much worse_?’” she cried. “What could be worse than participating in an organized crime ring?”

                “Harming the innocent. Seeking to incite anarchy. Acting only for yourself. I know the organization that you speak of, and it does none those things. The crimes it carries out are crimes against the powerful, funded by the powerful. Only one of many of the tools the wealthy use to fight their senseless battles against one other.”                     

                Deirdre stared in stunned silence. Whenever she felt that she had Cassandra figured out, the woman found ways to surprise her.

                “I have also heard that in recent years, the organization began to donate a generous amount of money to the alienages and to the poor in the cities where it operates,” Cassandra continued, meeting Deirdre’s eyes, “Especially to women who are raising children on their own.”

                Deirdre felt a flush creep up her face and faltered. Far more than the fact that she had helped orchestrate heists, that she had robbed opulent houses blind while noblemen bedded prostitutes mere feet away from her, that she had auctioned stolen goods to buyers, or that the only reason she was at the Conclave in the first place was to establish a contact for the ring, it was _this_ detail that made her feel exposed.  She trailed her fingers over the surface of the table and tried to think of what to say.

                “What you say is true, Lady Pentaghast! The organization does donate a great deal to the poor suffering in Ferelden’s cities, and it was your very own Inquisitor who put that practice in place.” Edwin suddenly emerged at her side and gave Cassandra a charming smile. “And I will tell you with honesty: most of the money that’s donated is hers. She has become a bit of a hero, in Denerim, although no-one knows who she is. They call her the Ghost.”

                Josephine shook her head. “So this is why you have so much distaste for the nobility! So many years spent doing their dirty work in the midst of their rivalries. But I must admit, Inquisitior, I’m surprised that you don’t know more about the noble families, at least of Ferelden!”

                Deirdre made a pained expression. “I have known more than I let on, but it doesn’t mean that I _enjoy_ knowing it, or learning any more of it. Besides, many of our clients hide their identity as a measure of security. We could track them down, certainly, but that does not help to establish a sense of trust with skittish patrons. In the end, as long as we receive payment for services rendered, it makes no difference to us who delivers it.”

                Josephine nodded. “I see. So, then, Inquisitor and Master Ramsey, shall we discuss some arrangements to secure supplies for the Inquisition?”     

                Edwin gave her a charming smile. “As a matter of fact, I’d love to.”


	9. The Herald's Rest

                Despite her best efforts to the contrary, Deirdre found herself sitting at the Herald’s Rest after dinner, awkwardly swirling a wine glass in her hand and watching her companions dance. She did not feel at ease in crowded places, and as she rarely drank, places such as the Herald’s Rest offered little inducement to her. Dorian and Edwin were the ones who convinced her to come, but within an hour the two of them had abandoned her for the dance floor. _Traitors_ , she thought with a grin, casting her eyes out at the moving figures.

                Cassandra was dancing with Varric, and her face was smiling and so at ease that Deirdre almost felt like she could see the woman behind the Seeker. The Iron Bull and Dorian were also a pair, and she watched them with amused interest. She had wondered how long it would be until they found their way to one another. The Commander, who had been nearly as resistant to the idea of visiting the Herald’s Rest as Deirdre, was dancing with a beautiful and bright-cheeked woman that Deirdre did not recognize. And, last but not least, Edwin was dancing with an extremely drunk Josephine, who looked at him as though he were some roguish vagabond from one of Cassandra or Deirdre’s love stories. Deirdre gave a wistful smile. And perhaps he was.

                “Why aren’t you dancing, Inquisitor?”

                Deirdre turned, and smiled at the lean-hipped apostate as he approached her.

                “Well, well, well!” she said with a grin. “Solas, what are _you_ doing here? I thought you said you had too much work to do this evening to join us at the Herald’s Rest.”

                Solas grinned. “A charming ploy to change the subject, Inquisitor, but a failed one. I’ll ask again: why aren’t you dancing?”

                “Because I’m shy, Solas,” she said. “That’s rather the long and the short of it.”

                “That might be true, but shyness can generally be overcome if one has the right partner,” he countered, and she turned to him as he came to stand beside her.

                “Are you offering to dance with me, Solas?” she asked, feeling her heart lurch with hope that the answer would be yes.

                “I’m afraid not, Inquisitor,” he said evenly. “You’ll find that I’m not much of a dancer.”

                “Ah,” she said, trying to mask her disappointment. He looked over at her, and she realized suddenly how closely they were standing. His leg was nearly touching hers.

                “I did not come to dance with you, Inquisitor, but I did come to speak with you. I wasn’t lying when I said I had a great deal of work to do, but I wasn’t able to focus on it. Instead, I found myself thinking about the story of your life before the Inquisition. Hearing about your background has managed to create as many new questions for me as it has answered existing ones. It explains your shrewdness, and your ability to read people and situations, and also your unusual exposure to art, but it does not explain your gracefulness, or your natural thoughtfulness, or why you inspire such fierce loyalty in the people around you.”

                She did not respond.  

                “I’m overwhelming you. I’m sorry, _lethellan_. I’ll restrict myself to individual questions. Varric calls you ‘mother.’ Do you have children, Inquisitor?”

                “No, Solas. I do not have children.” He did not respond immediately, so she took a breath and continued, surprised at finding herself wanting to share more with him. “Nor will I ever. I can’t have children. However, when I was young I found myself responsible for taking care of my brother and sister when my parents were unable. It became a habit, worrying about other people. I suppose that’s what inspired the nickname.”

                “I see,” he said slowly. Then, abruptly, “So you have a brother and sister! Where are they now?”

                “My sister is still with my clan. She… she has a bondmate, and children. My brother is much younger than me. He has magic, and he travelled to a different clan to train with their Keeper. He is remarkably skilled.”

                “And what of your parents?”

                She drew in a breath. They were reaching the edge of her willingness to talk about her past. “My mother is still with the Clan. My father left it years ago.” He continued to probe.

                “So it appears that you still have family at Clan Lavellan, and yet you chose to leave them. What drove you from your clan?”

                She had prepared herself for the question, and for the onslaught of ugly memories that accompanied it. She met his eyes, saying softly, “That is not a story that I am willing to tell right now, Solas. Not even to you.”

                He seemed surprised by her words. “I’m sorry, _lethellan_. I… I overstepped my bounds, and I was over-familiar. Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than I really have.”

                She wished that she could touch him, and tell him that she felt the same. Instead, she let out a soft sigh.

                “It’s alright, Solas. I’ve certainly subjected you to a litany of questions about your life, so I suppose I owe you. But then, your life has been much more interesting than mine, so I also feel justified in asking.” She looked back out at the crowd of dancers and smiled. “You are a remarkable person, Solas. Although I suspect you already know that.”

                He studied her for a moment before glancing out at the dancers.

                “Though he holds other women in his arms, Edwin’s eyes are on you,” he said quietly. “He watches you like a hawk.” He took a deep breath. “Are you lovers, _lethellan_?”

                She gave a small smile. “Yes, and no. Edwin is my dearest friend, and in the course of our relationship we have been lovers, but never on a permanent basis.” Solas let out a thoughtful sound.

                “I confess, that’s hard for me to imagine,” he said quietly. “Where I am from, we mate for life.”

                She smiled and glanced at him. “That is a beautiful tradition, Solas, but I fear that if most people held themselves to it they would spend their lives utterly alone for fear of choosing the wrong person.” She paused, glancing around to ensure that no-one was within earshot, and chose her words carefully. “Solas, I know that you have a life, and goals of your own, outside of the Inquisition. I know that, once Corypheus is dead, there will be nothing keeping us together any longer. I don’t wish to persuade you, but I want to make you understand. I am not asking you to mate for life. All I am asking is for your company and your willingness to give one another what pleasure we can while fate sees fit to keep us fighting towards a common purpose. I don’t think that there is less value in the bond shared between people just because they know that it’s temporary.”

                He sighed, suddenly grave. “We cannot fall in love, _lethellan_. It would only end badly.”

                “Who said anything about falling in love?” she asked in a light tone, but when he did not return her smile, she bit her lip. “Just… think about it,” she said quietly.

                He stood beside her, silent and thoughtful. So was this the way to seduce an elven apostate, she wondered - through words, instead of physical temptation? She noticed someone eyeing her across the room, and stiffened when she realized it was Dorian. After a moment, he separated from the Iron Bull, and strode towards them.

                “Hello there, Solas!” he cried, apparently more than a little drunk. “Come to join us for a night of unbridled debauchery?”

                Solas raised his eyebrows and suppressed a smile. “Not quite, Dorian. I came to speak with the Inquisitor over some manuscripts I’ve been analyzing. I was just leaving.”

                “Ah, that’s too bad!” said Dorian. “So no hope for any lessons in the arcane from a drunken apostate, then?”

                Solas laughed, and glanced at Deirdre. His blue eyes were warm, and Deirdre felt her pulse race at the intimacy she saw there. “I’m afraid not. Have a good evening, Dorian, Inquisitor,” he said, giving each of them a small nod. Then he departed, leaving Dorian and Deirdre alone at the bar.

                After a few moments, Dorian looked at her pointedly.

                “You’re _welcome_ , Deirdre,” he said, sounding suddenly utterly clear-headed. Despite her disappointment at the departure of Solas, Deirdre couldn’t help but laugh. Had he been pretending to be drunk?

                “For what, pray tell?” she asked, and he cast a sidelong glance at her, pouring himself a glass of wine.

                “For saving you from _Solas_ , obviously. I can’t imagine a worse person to be stuck talking to in a bar.”

                Deirdre felt her face contort at this response, but luckily her companion did not notice. He was busy eyeing the green-eyed half-elf across the room.

                “Deirdre,” he said in a serious tone. “I’m a little disappointed in you. Can you please explain to me why it is that you and your ‘old friend’ aren’t already locked away in your chambers making passionate love? You’ve kept your distance from him all night. Why? I hope you’re planning to settle down with him once this business with Corypheus is over. It’s clear that he’s in love with you.”

                “I have no intention of ‘settling down’ with Edwin,” she said evenly, swirling her glass. “It was a possibility, once, but the time for that has long since passed.”

                Dorian’s eyebrows creased. “Why?”

                 “Because I already asked him to marry me a long time ago.”

                “And?”

                Deirdre smiled softly. “And he said no.”

                “Ah,” said Dorian softly. “I see. “

                They stood in silence for several moments. Deirdre bit her lip, debating whether or not to say more. She was generally very reserved, and avoiding opening up to people unless she felt a great deal of trust in them. However, after a moment, a smile spread across her face at the realization that she _did_ have a great deal of trust in this cynical mage from Tevinter.

                “A long time ago, an old woman who called herself a witch predicted my future,” Deirdre said slowly. “She said that one day I would marry, and that one day I would have my heart broken by a man I would never stop loving. I was confused by her wording. ‘So what you mean to say is that my husband will break my heart?’ I asked, but she wouldn’t explain herself any further. I thought her prediction was nonsense for a long time, until I met Edwin, and I was absolutely heartsick with love for him. When he refused me, I wondered if the old woman was right – was Edwin the man who broke my heart, but that one day would accept me as his wife?”

                Dorian’s eyebrows had creased, and he gazed over at her. “And have you found your answer?” he asked. Deirdre’s mouth curved into a grin.

                “I have. With time, my heartbreak over Edwin’s refusal healed. I still love him, but not in the way that the witch foretold. I would not marry him today if he asked me.”

                “So you’re back to thinking it was all nonsense, then?” he asked, and she scoffed.

                “Absolutely. It makes me cringe to think that I ever believed her at all,” she said with a laugh, and Dorian patted her on the back.

                “There’s the cynical ex-Dalish I’ve grown to know and love!” he cried. 

                 Deirdre looked out at the dancers, and her eyes lingered on the Commander.

                “It is good to see the Commander loosening up again,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s been so tense since Haven. He deserves an opportunity to relax.”

                Dorian scoffed loudly _._ “Oh, pull yourself together, Deirdre. If I have to sit here and watch you make moon-eyes at Cullen until the wee hours, you are going to owe me _several_ more drinks.”

She laughed at his statement and, looking back, realized that the Commander was disentangling himself from his partner and making his way across the room. “You are delusional, Dorian. Trust me when I say that the Commander is not my type, nor am I his.”

                Dorian sighed. “Well, that’s good news, I suppose. At least there’s one woman in Skyhold who isn’t infatuated with him.”

When he arrived at the bar, the Commander stood next to Dorian and gave each of them a suspicious smile. “Are you… are you two drunk?”

                Dorian ignored the question. “I’m so glad you could join us, ‘ _Commander’_ ,” he said smoothly. “Deirdre and I were just discussing your type of woman.” The Commander’s face flushed at the statement, and Deirdre and Dorian grinned gleefully at each other.

                “Yes, Commander, I have it all planned out,” Deirdre said exuberantly. “You are like a prince in a _shemlen_ love story, and your bride will have to be a princess of similar golden loveliness.”

                Dorian nodded. “Indeed. I imagine she would have to be…tall.”

                “Statuesque.”

                “With very large breasts, I should think.” Dorian gave Deirdre a questioning look, and she shifted her gaze to the Commander, evaluating, before nodding.

                “Undoubtedly. And with long, glimmering hair cascading down her shoulders.”

                “And amethyst eyes that weep at the sight of her beloved.”

                The two of them were practically shaking with bridled laughter, and the Commander looked as if he couldn’t decide whether he was more embarrassed or indignant.

                “And what about you two, then? What is your ‘type,’ Dorian?” he asked, somewhat sulkily.

                Dorian put an elbow on the bar and raised his eyebrow. “Well, male, naturally,” he said with a smirk. “Preferably golden-haired, with amber eyes. Someone who _always_ seems to be wearing armor and is, if possible, an ex-Templar.”

                At this, Deirdre could not contain herself. Laughter poured out of her like water over a dam, and Dorian followed suit, both of them bent over and relishing what seemed to them to be their endless wit. The Commander watched them and shook his head.

                “Cullen, tell me this,” Dorian said after a moment, wiping his eyes. “How is it that a man who has as many… ‘admirers’ as you do is afraid to talk about sex?”

                Deirdre suppressed a grin. As soon as a conversation even hinted at any sort of intimacy, the Commander would blanch and begin to fidget. She thought it remarkably incongruous for a person so handsome, and who was rumored to have so many female “friends” in Skyhold.

                “I think I might know, Dorian,” she said archly, swirling her glass. “It is because of me, I think. He’s afraid that I will expel him from the Inquisition on the grounds of indecent behavior. Although by that token, I suppose we should have got rid of Bull three days after we hired him.”

                Dorian scoffed. “ _Three days_? Three hours is probably closer to the truth.”

                This led to another peal of laughter from Deirdre and Dorian, and the Commander let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. “If I’m going to have to listen to the two of you any longer, I’m going to need a drink,” he said with a smirk, and Dorian straightened.

                “Well it’s funny you should say that, Cullen, as I believe the Iron Bull has just the thing for you,” he said with a sly grin. He raised his hand and called out to the Iron Bull, who began to cross the room towards them.

                As if on cue, the Commander blushed, and lifted a hand to the back of his neck nervously.

                “I didn’t… I hadn’t actually planned to…”

                In the middle of the Commander’s nervous stuttering, the Iron Bull arrived and emphatically slammed a bottle onto the wood surface of the bar.

                “Well then, Boss, ready to show us what you’re made of?” he asked Deirdre with a grin.

                Deirdre flushed. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Bull. Absolutely not. I’m not some foolish young girl.”

                The Iron Bull feigned a crestfallen look. “Ahh, Boss, please? Just this once?”

                Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh, Bull, let her be that way if she wants to. It just means more for us.”

                Deirdre, watching the Commander of her armed forces awkwardly shift back and forth on his feet, suddenly had an evil idea.

                “I will drink it if he does,” she said crisply, gesturing towards the Commander, who looked at her suddenly as if she were a traitor of the worst order. She felt a wicked grin spread over her face, and the Iron Bull bellowed with laughter. Dorian smirked.

                “Well, what do you say, Cullen?” Dorian asked archly.

                “Yeah, Cullen, you up to it? The Boss here takes no prisoners.”

                Deirdre took hold of the bottle and poured two glasses, pushing one towards the Commander. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Finally, the Commander laughed. His shoulders relaxed, and he lifted the glass.

                “I am going to regret this,” he said. Deirdre lifted her glass.

                “Cheers, Commander,” she said with a smile.


	10. A Morning Goodbye

                When Deirdre regained consciousness, it was to the sight of torchlight flickering on an unfamiliar ceiling and throwing shadows onto dramatically painted walls. She realized with a jolt that she was not in her own bed, and looked around. Somehow, she had managed to fall asleep curled up on a small sofa in the lowest level of the rotunda. She realized with a wave of embarrassment that she had no memory of the events that led her from the Herald’s Rest to this particular room, nor did she have any memories at all past the point of refusing an invitation from Edwin to leave the Herald’s Rest together. She felt her stomach churn, and she put a hand over her face. Drinking herself into unconsciousness like a mindless young girl? She knew better.

                Taking a deep breath, she wondered at the time, and moved to place her feet on the ground. However, upon rolling over, she saw that she was not alone. After overcoming her momentary sense of shock, she observed there was a figure sprawled out on the floor right beside the sofa. It was the Commander, spread out on his back with his arms folded, face pensive even in sleep. He had stacked up some of Solas’ books to use as a pillow, and his breath was steady and even. What on earth was _he_ doing here? And why was he sleeping on the floor?

                As she debated with herself whether or not to wake him, his eyes opened, and his head shifted to meet her gaze.

                “Hello, Commander,” she said awkwardly. He scowled at her.

                “You have a very interesting taste in _friends_ , Inquisitor,” he told her, beginning to sit up. His voice was gruff from lack of sleep.

                “I- who- Commander, what are you doing here?”

                He drew his knees up and rested his arms on them, turning to face her. His face broke into the smallest hint of a smirk as he regarded her.

                “You don’t remember any of it, do you?” he asked. She felt her stomach plummet, and she shook her head. At that, to her amazement, his smirked transformed into to a genuine grin, and he laughed.

                “Well, Inquisitor, I’m sure that you’ll hear the story, but it won’t be from me.” He stood up and stretched his arms overhead, letting out a loud groan. She watched his movements and nearly laughed at the spectacle he made with his golden head shining in the torchlight and his muscles moving beneath his thin shirt. A prince in a _shemlen_ story, sleeping on the floor next to a passed-out ex-Dalish elf as she dreamed about tumbling around on the forest floor with a blue-eyed elven apostate. How absurd. This man’s sense of professional duty bordered on the fanatical.

                “I am sorry that you slept on the ground, Commander. You did not have to do that.” 

                “Yes, well.”

                He moved closer to Solas’ fresco, examining the detail in much the same way she had done the day before. He then took a step back to examine the full-size image. He let out a whistle. “This is incredible.”

                “Commander, why _did_ you sleep on the floor?”

                “Because you refused to go any farther, and I didn’t think that it was safe for you to sleep by yourself in an unlocked room.”

                “Commander, I don’t even lock my own room. We have guards posted in the battlements at all hours. Besides, you are not my personal bodyguard. Did you really think that it was any less safe here than in my own quarters?” she did not mean to pry, but she was genuinely curious. After a long moment, he laughed.

                “Alright, Inquisitor, I confess: I was also drunk, and sleeping on the floor beside you seemed like a good idea at the time.”

                At this, she laughed , pleased at his admission. He met her eyes and gave her a sheepish smile. “I feel absolutely terrible.”             

                “I feel terrible as well!” she admitted. “And I am so ashamed that I put you up to drinking. I hope I didn’t do anything too humiliating.”

                He shook his head. “No, no, Inquisitor. You handled yourself pretty well, all things considered. You may want to check in on Josephine later today, though.” He gave her a surprisingly roguish smile.

                “Oh?”

                He waved his hand. “I’ll leave that story to Dorian. He seemed to find it all extremely amusing.”

                Deirdre placed her feet on the ground and rose shakily to her feet. It felt like the room was spinning. “I am absolutely famished,” she said suddenly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

                “It was pretty late when we fell asleep here – or, early, I suppose, depending on how you look at it— but I don’t think we could have slept more than a few hours. It’s too early for breakfast, but we might be able to serve ourselves from the larder.”

                Unable to ignore the growling pain in her stomach, Deirdre nodded. “Yes,” she said, “let’s do that.”

                To her amazement, the Commander proved more than up to the task. He scoured the kitchen for the necessary supplies and set himself to making fried eggs. Deirdre settled down beside the fire to watch him, entranced by his every movement. He stoked the fire, placed a grate over it, and placed a heavy pan on top. He dropped a dollop of butter into the pan, spreading it around with a large wooden spoon, and then followed it up by cracking four large eggs. While they sizzled pleasantly, he cut two large pieces of bread, and added those to the pan as well. Deirdre was fascinated by the scene of domesticity he presented.

                “Commander, don’t take this the wrong way, but – when did you learn to cook?”

                He glanced at her and smirked. “Just because Templars don’t have to think for themselves doesn’t mean that they don’t have to feed themselves, Inquisitor. I mean, the Chantry fed us, but what they served could hardly be considered _food_.”

                She raised her eyebrows. “I see! Well, then, the Chantry’s failure is to my own benefit. Who would have thought, an ex-Templar frying eggs?” He glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow.

                “We ex-Templars do all sorts of things, Inquisitor. We fry eggs, think things, breathe in and out on a regular basis. You might be surprised by the things we’re capable of,” he said in a dry tone, motioning for her to step towards him. When she did, he delicately slid two eggs on to her plate, followed by a piece of bread. He handed her a fork and began to prepare his own plate. She bit into her eggs and nearly moaned with delight. They were perfect. He watched her with a searching look.

                “Are they… are they alright?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

                She closed her eyes and gave him a happy nod before responding with words. “They are perfect.”         

                He grinned and let out a breath of satisfaction, and Deirdre held back the urge to laugh. _The man is a perfectionist about literally everything_ , she thought, _so fried eggs might as well be added to the list_. After her assurances that the food was up to her standard, the Commander began to eat.

                “You know, Commander, I think last night at the Herald’s Rest was the first time since coming to Skyhold that I’ve known you to allow yourself personal time,” Deirdre said in an offhand tone.

                 “Keeping this place defended is a job that requires my full attention,” he said simply.

                “Yes, but… You don’t want to wear yourself out, you know. You have people to support you, and to see to the functioning of Skyhold’s defenses while you commit the unforgivable sin of taking an evening off. You deserve some rest.”

                The Commander raised an eyebrow and smirked. “This coming from the woman who sneaks out to the garden in the middle of the night to do manual labor while everyone thinks she’s asleep?”

                Deirdre kept her face passive. “Whatever made you think something like that?”

                “There are guards all over Skyhold, Inquisitor. They see everything, and they report anything unusual to me. They say you’ve made great progress, but they wonder what the gardeners must think.”

                Finally letting her guard down, Deirdre laughed. “The gardeners know that, if I had my choice, I would spend my days with them, and not in war rooms.”

                “Fair enough. But you see now, Inquisitor, why it’s hard for me to accept being chastised for not getting enough rest by someone who works as much as I do, and doesn’t appear to sleep.”

                Deirdre laughed again. “You’re right! I concede defeat.”

                The Commander smirked. “What was that first thing you said, Inquisitor? I didn’t quite catch it.”

                At that, Deirdre let out a groan and rose to her feet, laughing. “Enough, _enough_! I would rather read Jospehine’s tracts on Orlesian nobility than deal with a smug ex-Templar.”

                “And I’d rather do drills with new recruits than deal with an opinionated ex-Dalish.”

                Deirdre grinned. “Then it appears, Commander, that we are at an impasse.”

                “Very well,” he said with a shrug. “Back to the tower I go.”

                She stood in front of him, uncertain what to do with her hands. “Goodbye, Commander. I hope that you enjoy your day.”

                “Goodbye, Inquisitor,” he said with a smirk. “Thanks for an… interesting evening.”                          

 

                After she parted ways with the Commander, Deirdre made her way to her quarters, hoping to wash herself and change her clothes before her daily barrage of meetings began. However, when she shuffled up the stairs, trying to ignore the throbbing in her head, she was surprised to find that her bedroom was occupied. The doors to the balcony were open, and a crisp breeze blew in, rustling the wall hangings and papers on her desk. Edwin stood with his back to her, a small knapsack at his feet, and he was wearing his traveling clothes. Deirdre was uncertain where he had heard her approach, so when she reached the top of the stairs she paused, feeling a lump form in her throat. After all that had happened between them, it still was never easy to say goodbye.

                After a moment he turned, and gave her a wide smile.

                “Ah, _there_ you are,” he said in a wry tone, leaning his back against the stone of the balcony railing and crossing his arms. “I wondered when you’d drag yourself back to your own bedroom. So, which lucky man had the pleasure of sharing his bed with you last night?”

                Deirdre rolled her eyes and approached him.

                “No man, Edwin,” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous. What made you think such a thing?”

                Edwin raised an eyebrow.

                “Because in the past when you have refused my invitations, there has always been some man or other who has stayed your hand.”

                Deirdre let out a breath. She was afraid he was going to say that.

                “I respect your decision, Deirdre, I was just hoping to find out which of Skyhold’s merry men is your chosen.”

                She sighed. “There is no man, Edwin.”  

                “Ah,” Edwin said, gazing at her. “Fine, keep it yourself, then.” A silence settled between them, and after a moment he spoke again. “I suppose it’s a little selfish of me to think that I can swoop into your life any time that I please and find you waiting for me.”

                She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, Edwin,” she said quietly. “It is.”

                He sighed and lifted the knapsack from the ground. Deirdre had filled it with food at dinner the previous night, and asked him to take it on the road. She gazed at it, wondering where it would end up once he reached his next destination.

                “Well, I suppose this is goodbye,” Edwin said after a moment, walking towards her. “I have a lot to do getting a distribution channel set up for you, and the sooner I can get started, the better.” He paused when he stood in front of her, gazing down at her. “Which reminds me: I was thinking that we could have sea shipments directed to the Storm Coast. Would that work?”

                Deirdre shifted. “Yes, we… we have a base camp at the Storm Coast. We could send extra soldiers there to guard the shipments, and some of Leliana’s agents could see to the dealings with the distributors. The Storm Coast would be just fine.”

                Edwin nodded. “Excellent. Well, in that case, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” he said, extending his hand. Letting out a sigh, she ignored the extended hand and kissed him on the cheek, placing her hands gently on his shoulders.

                “Goodbye, Edwin. I’m very glad that I got to see you.”

                He gave her a small smile. “I’m glad I got to see you too, Deirdre,” he said quietly. “You’ve done well for yourself, here. But then, I expected no less.”

                “I can see you out,” she offered awkwardly, and he laughed.

                “That won’t be necessary. I know the way.”

                For a moment, they both stood completely still, gazing at one another, until Edwin shifted, moving towards the top of the stairs. When he reached the first step he paused, and turned back to her. Deirdre wrapped her arms around her waist, knowing what he wanted her to say, and knowing that she would never say it.

                “It’s the blond one, isn’t it? The ex-Templar?” he asked. Deirdre felt her face contort. She thought the suggestion was ludicrous, but recognized that giving Edwin any information to the contrary might lead him closer to the truth, which was a situation she wanted to avoid. So she remained silent, gazing at him, and Edwin let out a sigh. “I knew it,” he said in a glum tone. “He’s too handsome for his own good. Deirdre, take my word for it: he doesn’t deserve you.” 

                Deirdre lifted her hand. “Goodbye, Edwin,” she said quietly, and he turned.

                “Goodbye, Deirdre,” he called over his shoulder.

                Soon, he was at the bottom of the steps, and gone.


	11. Stop It Before It Starts

                 It only took a few moments for Deirdre to realize she was dreaming. Lucid dreaming was not an uncommon occurrence for her, and it seemed to have been increasing in frequency since the explosion at the Conclave. She had nearly reached a point when she was as comfortable navigating her dreams as she was navigating the real world, so much so that, at times, it was difficult for her to tell that she was dreaming. In this instance, however, she knew beyond a doubt. For while she was making her way through the now-familiar halls of Skyhold, she recognized that it was not the same fortress as the one she called home. This fortress was still new, brightly lit, and covered from floor to ceiling in opulent tapestries. The passageways were packed with people in shimmering clothing, the likes of which she had never seen before, and she realized with a start that every single one of them stopped to bow to her as they passed. After a few minutes, she realized that they were all elves, and her sense of curiosity grew. She ran her hands along the stones, amazed at their smoothness, and let her feet guide her towards where she knew the main hall would be. What would she find there, she wondered?  She doubted it would be the slew of tradesmen, messengers, and diplomats that she had grown accustomed to. So who would it be? When she finally reached it, she found that it was more grand than she could have imagined. The room was lit all the way up to the vaulted ceilings, and the walls were decorated with ornate banners that stretched nearly to the floor, each of them adorned with the symbol of a white wolf. She stared at one, mesmerized, and reached out her fingers to touch it. It was velvety between her fingers, and some small part of her wondered. Usually, she could not feel textures in her dreams. However, her attention was soon drawn away from the banner and towards a mass of finely-dressed elves who stood shoulder-to-shoulder around what appeared to be a dance floor. Deirdre grinned. Who would have thought – the main hall of Skyhold as a ballroom? She stood on her tiptoes and tried to see over the large headdresses worn by the majority of the attendants, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dancers. The music that filled the air was enchanting, and the room was filled with the low hum of voices and sudden peals of laughter. Deirdre was wondering what they were celebrating when the man in front of her turned, and, upon seeing who it was, gave a low bow.

                 “My Lady,” he said graciously, “I did not realize that I was in your way. Forgive me.”

                 He stepped aside and extended his arm, allowing her to pass him and reach the edge of the dancefloor. She watched, mesmerized, as the dancers turned about the room. In all her time sneaking into the noble households of Orlais and Ferelden, she had never seen anything equal to this in opulence and beauty. Suddenly, it occurred to her to wonder who it was that might be sitting on the throne – _her_ throne, as a matter of fact – and her curiosity overcame her interest in the dancers. She was so far away that she was unable to see the throne, so she began to weave her way through the people ringing the dance floor until it came into view. For a moment, her step faltered, and her mouth fell open at the sight.

                 The throne was occupied by a person who looked remarkably like Solas – all of the physical characteristics were the same, but he was clad in pristine white finery, and he sat upon the throne with a natural ease in a way that Deirdre could not imagine the beggarly apostate would ever be able to manage. Tilting her head, she found herself staring in utter fascination, and she recalled something that Vivienne had once said: “If we were to outfit him in more appropriate garments, he would look absolutely kingly.” She realized with a grin that this was likely the origin in her dreaming mind of the specter of Solas on the throne, looking beyond any doubt like a king. She let out a short laugh, amused at her mind’s ability to create such fanciful dreams from mere scraps of conversations, and she wondered what the real Solas would think if he were to see this vision.   

                 At the sound of her laugh, the specter of Solas turned his head, and suddenly his eyes were on her. As in the real world, Deirdre’s heart began to race, and she resisted the urge to laugh at herself. Even here, he could make her swoon. At first, the man on the throne looked shocked to see her, but he soon broke into a warm smile.

                 “There you are!” he said, in a voice that sounded so much like Solas that she nearly laughed. He rose to his feet and descended the steps in front of the throne. When he entered the crowd, people moved aside for him, until he stood in front of her. Extending a hand, he gave her a low bow.

                 “Care to dance?” he asked with a smile, and Deirdre felt her face flush. Somewhere in her mind she remembered that Solas had specifically told her he was not a dancer, but she quickly reminded herself that this was _her_ dream, and that Solas would do whatever she damn well pleased in it. Suppressing a wicked smile at the thought, she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his.

                 “As you wish.”

                 He closed his fingers over hers and straightened, stepping towards her and slipping his arm around her waist. The feeling of it was delicious.

                 “You look beautiful this evening,” he said in a quiet voice, and it occurred to Deirdre to look down at what she was wearing. It was a dark blue gown, made up of sweeping swaths of fabric that wrapped and coiled around her body in a way that seemed impossible. She thought with a small grin that, if nothing else about this dream could be real, she wished at least that she could take the dress with her.

                 “Thank you,” she said simply, and she slipped her arms into his at the center of the dance floor. Although he was only a vision in a dream, his body felt remarkably real pressed against hers, and for a moment she allowed herself to believe that it was truly him. Then they began to move, and she tried to follow his steps, but she realized with no small amount of irritation that her lucid dream state had not accounted for her needing to possess a magical knowledge of dance steps that she had never learned. The dancers around them stared, but she paid them no mind. They were figures in a dream. Who cared what they thought? But after several instances of scuffed feet and nearly falling, she felt her face go red with frustration, and simply stopped moving. The dream Solas looked down into her face and laughed, giving her a brilliant smile, and for a moment she simply stared at him, mesmerized. She had never seen the real Solas smile that way – his face open and unguarded, his eyes shining. He looked heartbreakingly happy. After a moment, she smiled back at him, and he brought two hands to the sides of her face, bringing his face down and pressing his lips against hers in a kiss so sweet it made her legs weak. She laced her arms around his neck, and was faintly aware of the sound of the people around them cheering and clapping. After several moments, he drew away, and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

                 “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, and his voice was so full of tenderness that her heart ached for him, for this specter of a man who did not know he was not real.

                 “Oh, Solas,” she said sadly. “Don’t you know that this is just a dream?”

                 His eyebrows drew together at her response, and he pulled away abruptly, studying her. “Deirdre, is this really you?” he asked, and she felt the hairs on her arms raise. Had she somehow wandered back into the Fade? Had the real Solas somehow stumbled into her dream? She felt her insides curl with embarrassment at the thought.

                 However, she did not have long to ponder her humiliation, for her dream was shattered suddenly by the sound of a loud clattering, and she awoke with a jolt to the sight of her dinner tray scattered all over the floor, and one of Leliana’s cats resting daintily on her desk, licking its paw. Deirdre shook her head and rose to her feet, moving towards her desk and gently lifting the creature.

                 “Well, at least you woke me up when the dream had taken a turn for the worse,” she said with a sigh, moving down the stairs and setting the cat outside her doorway. “But please tell your mother that I prefer visitors to my bedroom to come with an invitation.”

                 Closing the door, she made her way back up the stairs to her bedchamber in a daze, rubbing her eyes. After crawling back into her wide bed, she found that sleep eluded her. She realized with no small amount of disappointment that she would not be returning to her earlier dream, and she decided to take a walk in an attempt to steady her thoughts. She rose and changed out of her nightclothes, pulling a dark hooded cloak over her body and slipping down the stairs. At night, she had the freedom to choose whether or not to let people see her, and on this night, she chose the shadows.

                 She wandered the hallways for several minutes, trying to decide where to go, when her feet led her to the rotunda. She found that Solas was not there, and so she made for the battlements, hoping that the fresh air would clear her mind. She ascended to the highest level, hoping to reach the location farthest from the nearest guard post, when she saw a luminous blue light hovering in the distance. Keeping herself cloaked, she moved towards it soundlessly, curious at what she saw. As she drew nearer, a form came into sight, lit by the cold blue of the flame, and she realized that it was Solas. He was standing on the battlement, his body loose and at ease, holding one hand in front of him with his elbow bent. From the space just above his hand, the blue flame crackled and danced, and he appeared to be gazing at it absently, his mind elsewhere. Deirdre stared at the flame, mesmerized, when Solas shifted and, moving his arm with a sudden snap, sent the flame shooting off into the darkness beyond the battlement, where it traveled some distance before exploding in the night air. Deirdre drew in a breath. That flame could easily kill someone, and yet he handled it as casually as if it were a child’s toy. She found that she was equal parts unsettled and allured by the thought, and she shook her head, trying to steady her breathing.

                 After the explosion, Solas lifted his hand, and another flame sprang up in its place, undulating and glowing in the night. His sharp features were accentuated by the strange light, and he looked ethereal, like a piece of the dream world. Deirdre took a step forward, still cloaked by darkness, and spoke.

                 “What does that feel like?” she asked.

                 Solas started and, for the briefest moment, the flame sputtered and flickered. His mouth then curved into a small smile, and she studied the shadows that the flame cast on his face. Remarkably, the flame was the same color as his eyes.

                 “Well done, Inquisitor. You caught me off guard. That is not an easy thing to do.”

                 “I have a bit of experience sneaking around in the shadows,” she said with a smile.

                 “So it would seem. I still cannot see you. Where are you, _lethellan_?”

                 “I am close enough.”

                 In truth, she was only a few feet away, and she moved closer to him. His eyes traveled through the darkness and he grinned, stretching his hand out in front of him. The flame grew in size, until it illuminated an area several feet around him, and Deirdre found herself showered in the blue light, exposed. She made no move to step away, and she smiled, removing her hood.

                 “Hello, Solas,” she said, and he smiled.

                 “There you are,” he said, and she nodded, remembering her dream. _There you are._

                 “Here I am.” She stepped towards him, reaching a hand out towards the flame. “What does that feel like?” she asked again, and he raised an eyebrow.

                 “What does what feel like, Inquisitor?”

                 “ _This_ ,” she said pointing to the flame. “Magic. What does it feel like?”

                 He smiled slightly. “I’ll answer that question if you agree to answer a different question for me first, Inquisitor.”

                 She feigned a thoughtful look, then smiled. “Alright, that seems fair. What would you like to ask me?”

                 “Do you know what it feels like to be in love, Inquisitor?”

                 She laughed slightly, surprised by the question. “I… I am not quite sure, Solas. I’ve certainly believed myself to be in love at different times in my life, but perhaps I was wrong. As you can see, none of them stuck. After all, here I am.”

                 He smiled at her. “Here you are,” he echoed. “I for one have never been in love, Inquisitor, and thus have no idea what it feels like. However, a woman I once knew told me that to be in love is to do things that you know are a mistake, because you cannot stop yourself from doing them. Would you say that is a fair assessment?”

                 Deirdre drew in a breath, thinking about her past lovers, and she let out a sigh. “Whoever she was, that woman was very wise. That is the most apt description of love that I have ever heard.”

                 “It seems dangerous, then. Why would anyone ever choose such a fate?” he asked, gazing at her, and she laughed.

                 “I don’t think anyone _chooses_ it, Solas. It just happens.”

                 “And there is no way of preventing it?”

                 She bit her lip, thinking of her strained goodbye with Edwin. “You can stop it before it starts.”

                 Solas let out a thoughtful sound.

                 “I see,” he said quietly. He paused, and drew in a breath before speaking. “Then perhaps you will understand my motives, Inquisitor, when I tell you that I’ve thought over what you said at the Herald’s Rest, and that I have decided to stop it before it starts.”

                 Deirdre felt a sinking in her stomach, realizing that their entire conversation had been a long, circuitous way for him to tell her no.

                 “Oh,” she said softly. “Oh.”

                 His brows drew together and he moved towards her, a pained expression on his face. The flame still danced between them.

                 “I’m sorry, _lethellan_. You must understand that, if things were different, I would-”

                 She stepped away from the flame and back into the darkness, averting her eyes.

                 “So, what does it feel like?” she asked, cutting him off.

                 His face creased, and he gazed at the flame in his hands.

                 “Every mage experiences it differently,” he said evenly. “But for me, it starts as a heat in my center, and then spreads outwards, towards the area that I am using to direct it. When it reaches my skin it feels like… a pressure, emanating from the inside outward.”

                 Deirdre stared at the flame, then at the pulsing green wound on her hand. Her experience when using the Anchor was exactly what Solas described. It had never occurred to her that her experience with the Anchor, where the magic had forcibly entered her body from the outside world, would be the same as with someone whose magic originated from their own body.  Silence fell between them for several moments.

                 “To put it more plainly,” Solas said at length, “the feeling is similar to what I experience when I am around you.”

                 Suddenly, the flame disappeared, and he moved towards her. With the magic gone, they were in complete darkness. “A warmth in my center, spreading outwards.”

                 Deirdre stood frozen as he came to stand in front of her, so close that she could feel the heat from his body. “At times, it can be dizzying.”

                 Deirdre let out a breath and stepped away from him. “You are a riddle, Solas,” she said with a short laugh, trying to steady her breathing. There was a crackling, and suddenly the blue flame returned, and they were illuminated.

                 “Are you fond of riddles, Inquisitor?” Solas asked, and she let a long breath out of her mouth.

                 “So it would seem,” she said.

                 “What is easier to give up than to give? Eternal, but selective? What prolongs, but can ruin?”

                 Deirdre bit her lip, trying to sort through her thoughts. Usually she was very good at riddles.

                 “I don’t know,” she said at length, and Solas give a grim smile.

                 “Immortality,” he answered, and she tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.

                 “That’s not a very funny riddle, Solas,” she said pointedly, and he gave a slight laugh.

                 “No, I suppose it isn’t,” he said, and silence fell between them again. After several moments, Deirdre spoke.

                 “Solas, I understand why you would choose _not_ to… to…” she faltered, stumbling over the words. “I can understand why you _won’t_ take things any further with me. It’s logical. But what I fail to understand is why you considered it in the first place. Why _me_ , of all people?”

                 He made a sound in his throat and gave a small, inscrutable smile from across the distance between them. She took a step towards him, meeting his gaze.

                 “Why, Solas? Please, tell me.”

                 He moved his hand so that the flame was off to their right instead of directly between them, and she moved close, gazing up at him. She studied his face, trying to read his gaze. Slowly, he reached up with his free hand and ran the back of it along her jaw. The movement sent a wave of dizzying chills down her body.

                 “If I were to tell you why, _lethellan_ , we would be here ‘til morning.”

                 For a moment, both of them stood frozen, and it seemed that he might lean down and press his lips against hers, until she stepped away abruptly, shaking her head.

                 “ _Nonsense!_ ” she said with a laugh. “Solas, I have known sweet-talkers before, but none of them have _ever_ come anywhere close to you.”

                 For some reason, the entire situation – her infatuation with him, his resistance to any intimacy with her followed so closely by words of flattery – seemed hilarious to her, and she continued to laugh. 

                 “Are you laughing at me, Inquisitor?” she heard him say, and that only made her laugh harder.

                 “No, Solas, absolutely not. No-one could ever laugh at _you_.”

                 But as soon as the words left her mouth, she began to laugh again, and she lifted a hand to her mouth, trying to muffle the sound. She looked over at him and found that he was gazing at her, and smiling in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the Solas in her dream. Suddenly, she stopped laughing, and straightened.

                 “Solas, I had a dream earlier tonight, and you were in it, and I… I was wondering if it was like the night when I unintentionally found you in the Fade, and rather than it being a dream, it was actually _you_ …” she trailed off and glanced over at him, and found that he had stopped smiling. Instead, he was gazing at her, his eyes unreadable. “Was it you?” she asked softly, and he did not respond. After several moments, he looked away.

                 “No, _lethellan_ ,” he said at length. “It was not me. It was just a dream.”

                 Feeling an odd combination of relief and disappointment, Deirdre let out a breath. “I am glad to hear it. Thank you, Solas.”

                 “Of course,” he said evenly, turning to look out into the night. “I believe that we should go back inside, Inquisitor. The guards will likely be making their rounds soon, and it would be advisable to avoid the suspicion that might arise from the discovery of us having a clandestine meeting on the battlements.”

                 Deirdre frowned. “You are right,” she said evenly. “I suppose we are done here. Goodnight, Solas,” she said, and she turned, beginning to make her way back into the darkness.

                 “Deirdre, wait,” Solas called, and she stopped, turning to face him. He rarely used her real name.

                 “I can give you one reason, if you’d like,” he said quietly.

                 “One reason for what?” she asked.

                 “You asked me why I chose you. I can give you one reason why, if you’d like.”

                 She raised an eyebrow and shook her head, laughing slightly. “I will never understand you, Solas. Very well, then, enlighten me: what is one reason?”

                 “I love the taste of you.”

                 Deirdre drew in a sharp breath.

                  “Since that first kiss in the Fade, I can’t seem to get the memory of it out of my mouth.”

                 Her knees felt week, and, distantly, she realized that she could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She had no response to this.

                 “Sleep well, Inquisitor,” Solas said in a quiet voice, and before she could respond, he had melted into the darkness behind him.

                 “Goodnight,” she whispered to the empty space where he had been.


End file.
